


Wordless Affections

by Iturbide



Category: Fire Emblem Heroes, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Anthology, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, F/F, F/M, Family Bonding, Found Family, Gen, Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M, Multi, Sibling Bonding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-22
Updated: 2019-03-18
Packaged: 2019-11-02 01:24:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 39
Words: 27,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17878421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iturbide/pseuds/Iturbide
Summary: A collection of short works based on the"50 Wordless Ways to Say 'I Love You'"prompt list.Each chapter involves different characters and fulfills a different prompt, so please check individual entries for relationship and content.  Includes romantic, platonic, familial, and sibling affections, because all forms of love are valid and worthy of celebration. <3





	1. Grima & Young Tiki - What Family Is

**Author's Note:**

> By request (and as a way to keep these slightly more orderly), I'm cross-posting the original responses to the ["50 Wordless Ways to Say 'I Love You'"](https://iturbide.tumblr.com/post/182542074661/50-item-writing-prompts-50-wordless-ways-to-say) prompt list here on AO3. Requests are still open (and probably will be for the foreseeable future because they're a lot of fun to answer), so if you have an interest, please feel free to send a request through [Tumblr](https://iturbide.tumblr.com/ask) and it'll end up added to this list! (Please limit requests to a maximum two per ask, though.)
> 
> Rather than focus only on romantic affections, I've made it a goal to cover as many kinds of bonds as possible. Blood siblings, found families, couples in love, close friends -- love comes in many forms, and they all deserve to be celebrated. Because each chapter focuses on a different set of characters and fills a different prompt, each chapter will include the main characters in the title (with & representing family or friend relationships, / representing romantic relationships) and associated details (including potential warnings) in the notes below. 
> 
> Thank you for giving these drabbles a read, and I hope you enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
> **Characters:** M!Grima, Young Tiki, Kiran  
>  **Relationship:** Familial  
>  **Prompt:** Listening to them while they vent  
>  _Warnings:_ Implied neglect

“If I see you up again, I will not hesitate to _drag_ you out of here, do you understand?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Kiran yawned, stumbling out of the library as he held the door open for them. “See you tomorrow, then?”

“Yes,” he agreed. “ _Late.”_ The Summoner muttered something incomprehensible (and likely incoherent, given the state he’d found them in – gods knew they needed sleep) and began to obediently weave their way down the hall and toward the barracks. He considered following them, just to be sure they made it--

“Grima?”

He paused at the sound of a small, familiar voice; turning, he caught sight of Tiki standing at the other end of the hall, her hands balled into tight fists within her dark red cloak. “What are you doing about at this hour?” he asked, moving to join her. The youngest members of the creche should have been abed long before now, and it was unlike his counterpart to miss one…

“I couldn’t sleep,” she mumbled. 

“Did you have a nightmare?” She shook her head as he knelt down to her level, folding his hands under his chin. “Restless, perhaps?” Again, she offered a silent negative, and his head tilted slightly to one side. “What is it, tiny one?”

She said nothing, biting her lip instead of speaking. But he could feel the weight of the words she struggled under. And he nodded, after another moment, rising to his feet and offering a hand down to her. “Perhaps a snack from the kitchen will help.”

Her face did not light up as it so often did. But he could see something soften in her face as she took his hand and followed him through the silent halls to the castle kitchens. The Summoner had recommended against sweets before bed for the little dragons, for fear of keeping them up all night…but, Grima decided (and the presence at the back of his mind agreed), the circumstances seemed worthy enough for bending the rule. So as Tiki scrambled up onto the counter, he pulled a few fresh cookies from the jar, offering her two as he savored his own. 

For a time they ate in silence (though he noticed that she did not devour her own as she so often did, barely finishing the first by the time he dusted the crumbs from his gloves). And he did not pry, instead watching her from the corner of his eye as she turned her second treat over once, and again, and again…

“Is it bad, that I don’t like my mama?”

He could not have expected that question. His eyebrows rose in surprise as she glanced toward him, then down again at her hands…but he recovered quickly enough, leaning back against the counter beside her. “Why do you ask?”

“…I was talking to Kana, earlier.” Again, she cast an uncertain look in his direction, but he only nodded encouragingly for her to continue. “And…and he kept talking about his mama, and how wonderful she is, and how strong and good and caring she is and how much he loves her, and…I felt funny, listening to him. Upset. Kind of. I think? But I didn’t know why, and…and I still don’t know why, but when I think about my mama I feel…sad. I’ve missed her, and I’ve called for her, and she never comes, not _ever_ , even when I had a nightmare she was never there, it was always Uncle Bantu o-or…a-and I thought for a long time that I did something wrong to make her upset and that’s why she wouldn’t come, but…”

Her lip had begun to tremble as she spoke. And now he could see the tears welling in her eyes, even as she rubbed her fist across them. “I don’t know what I did wrong,” she whimpered. “And she won’t tell me. And I don’t know what to do. But I think about my mama and my chest gets all tight and that’s not how you’re s’posed to feel with y-your mama and papa, ri-ight…?”

“Tiki.”

She looked up at him as he opened his arms for her -- and she did not hesitate, reaching up for him in turn as her tears overflowed. He gathered her up, holding her tight as she buried her face in the shoulder of his coat…and on a soft suggestion from the other presence in his mind, he gently ran one hand across her shoulders, feeling them tremble and jump with every sob. “You did nothing wrong,” he murmured. “Nothing at all to warrant the way she treated you. How you feel about your mother is right. Kana feels differently because his mother is not like yours, and he is not like you. He has his reasons to love his mother -- and you have your own not to. You should never have to force yourself to love someone…even if that someone is your mother. Alright?”

She sniffled thickly, clinging to his coat with trembling hands; reaching into one of his pockets, he removed a clean handkerchief and offered it to her, cradling her as she wiped her red-rimmed eyes and blew her nose. “You’re sure?”

“Quite,” he nodded. He had more than a few cold words to say of his own supposed ‘father,’ after all. “If your mother is not worthy of your love, find another who is.” 

“…I can do that?”

“I don’t see why not,” he grinned. “Fae certainly has.”

That, at last, earned a smile. Sniffling quietly, she dried her eyes again, snuggling close and accepting the cookie he offered, rescued from where she’d abandoned it on the counter. “Feeling a bit better now?” he ventured. She nodded, rubbing her eyes as she nibbled the edge of her treat – though it seemed less to dry them, and more to keep them open. “Is it perhaps time for bed?”

“…maybe,” she mumbled shyly. 

“Then let’s be off,” he chuckled, kneeling down to place her back on the ground. She reached up as he stood, though, and he held her hand while they made their way back through the winding halls to the room where the creche spent their nights; sneaking inside, they both tiptoed to her bed, and as she crawled into the blankets Grima tucked her in. 

When he rose to leave, though, he felt something catch his sleeve -- and turning to look, he saw her peering up at him through the dark. “Will you stay?” she whispered. 

“…if you wish it,” he agreed, settling down among the scattered cushions and pillows the creche had taken to hoarding in their room. 

She beamed, snuggling deeper into her own nest. “Good night.”

“Sleep well,” he murmured, smiling as she closed her eyes…and as her breath grew quiet and even, he gently smoothed the hair away from her face. “And may you have sweet dreams, tiny one.”


	2. Chrom/Sumia - Early Mornings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Characters:** Chrom, Sumia, Frederick  
>  **Relationship:** Romantic (Married Couple)  
>  **Prompt:** Giving them a kiss before going to work and they are still in bed.  
>  _Warnings:_ None

Chrom had always been an early riser. From the time he was a child, the church bells ringing to greet the dawn had roused him from sleep, and no amount of lying around with his eyes closed could bring it back. So he’d learned to make the most of it, and it had soon enough become habit to start his day with the sun. In his younger days, he’d grabbed a quick snack before heading out to practice his swordsmanship, though after assuming the halidom’s throne, he spent far more time reviewing articles and proposals for upcoming council meetings…

But equally often, now, when he woke with the dawn, he did not rise at all, instead holding his wife close as the light of day crept through the windows. 

He had told her from the outset, when he offered her his ring, that it would be difficult to start. Ylisse had to come first, for the sake of the halidom’s people, and he wanted so badly to see Emmeryn’s dream of peace made real. And Sumia had understood. She’d made no protest, asked nothing of him, instead offering her smiles and her encouragement and her comfort on his hardest days. She had presented him with her flower fortunes before his most stressful council meetings, had held his hand when he stood before the halidom’s people to remind him that he was not alone, and each night stayed awake to greet him at the end of his day and bid him sweet dreams (though she had, on occasion, fallen asleep reading a book, and roused only as he tried to set it aside for her). 

She had always been more than he expected. She was still more than he thought he deserved, sometimes. But he loved her, and he wished that he could stay at her side -- enough that he dawdled now, lying beside her as she slept on. 

He heard, distantly, a faint knock at the door to the royal apartments. Sighing to himself, he finally stirred, slipping out of bed and pulling on a robe as he paced from the room and through the parlour. “Who is it?” he called. 

“Frederick, Milord,” a familiar voice announced. “The council expects you shortly: shall I have breakfast brought up?”

“No. I’ll be down soon.”

“As you wish, Milord.” He heard the clanking of the great knight’s armor retreating -- likely to give the dining room a final inspection -- and turned back to his own quarters, quietly dressing and grooming and making himself ready to face the court. 

He paused one last time by the bedside, reaching out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind Sumia’s ear. She stirred slightly, but did not rouse, simply nestling deeper into the pillows…and he smiled, leaning close to kiss her temple. 

As he turned to leave, he heard a soft mumble behind him. And when he turned, he saw her smiling at him, still more asleep than awake as she offered a small wave. “You’ll do great today,” she murmured. “I know it.”

He grinned, feeling his nerves begin to settle in the face of her confidence. And she beamed back, snuggling down into the pillows as he turned…but just once, he glanced over his shoulder, watching his wife for a moment more before marching ahead to face the day. 


	3. Grimas & Kanas - Restless Nights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Characters:** M!Grima, F!Grima, M!Kana, F!Kana  
>  **Relationship:** Familial  
>  **Prompt:** Calming them down when they have a bad dream  
>  _Warnings:_ None

The hour grew late as the Grimas talked with one another. Which was not unusual: long after the creche had curled up in their beds, the fell dragons in their restless vessels would speak in soft voices of whatever happened to be on their minds. It filled the time while they waited for sleep to find them, and it seemed to lend some comfort to the youngest of the dragon children, helping them to rest through the night and on to morning. 

They tired gradually, settling into comfortable silence; soon enough their eyes closed, and they began to drowse in the dark, the quiet easing them toward deeper rest--

A whimper broke the stillness, and they both came awake in an instant, scanning the room for the source of the sound. Another cry followed, a tiny, trembling wail rising from nearby -- and the fell dragons rose from their nests of blankets and cushions, picking their ways separately through the chaos of pillows scattered through the room and settling on the bedsides of two young dragons. The Kanas did not stir, even as the Grimas lay a hand upon their shoulders -- but they shared a glance through the dark, and knew that the other child trembled beneath that touch. 

They did not try to rouse the young dragons, simply stroking their hair as they waited for the Kanas to wake. It still came as a relief when they stirred, though, gasping as their eyes snapped open and scanned the room around them through the tears already starting to overflow...but when the Grimas touched them once more, their attention fixed on the fell dragons beside them, and they each scrambled out of the twisted bedclothes and into the Grimas’ laps, pressing themselves as tightly as they could manage into their chests. 

“It’s alright,” the fell dragons murmured, hearing the other speak the same soft assurance as they wrapped their coats around the weeping children. “It’s alright, Kana. You’re not alone.”

Those simple words, cutting so softly through the dark, eased their frightened shivering into nothing more than faint tremors, their muffled sobs becoming no more than tiny hiccoughs as they huddled within the Grimas’ arms. In time, even that faded into nothing at all, their breaths quieting and the tension in their shoulders easing as sleep reclaimed them both. The fell dragons glanced at one another, faint smiles turning up their lips as they made themselves comfortable, cradling the Kanas close and closing their eyes once more. 

Rest would come for them, too, in time. But the Kanas would not wake alone. 


	4. Anankos & Kanas - Haunted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Characters:** Anankos, M!Kana, F!Kana  
>  **Relationship:** Familial  
>  **Prompt:** Calming them down when they have a bad dream  
>  _Warnings:_ None

_Anankos stared across the crumbling waste of what had once been a thriving city. Hoshido had fallen to the Faceless masses, and the remnants of their army still roved the silent streets in search of survivors. But any who might have escaped the initial assault were long gone, either fled or dead, and he knew in his aching heart that the vast majority had not reached the city walls alive. Turning from the balcony, he stared at the ruined castle behind him, yet more monsters shambling through its deserted rooms and hallways -- but they scattered before him as he strode toward the deepest heart of the palace._

_The doors did not budge when he tested them. He forced them open even still, a terrible dread filling the pit of his stomach like a leaden weight…_

_The room opened, and the stench of dust and rot washed over him. This had once been the Castle Shirasagi throne room -- but now it was a tomb, the fallen bodies of four…five…six warriors scattered across the floor, their armor crumbling, mummified flesh clinging to their bones. He nearly tripped over a blessed lance abandoned near the doorway as he made his way toward the throne, glancing at each corpse he passed: a young girl with a staff, a woman with an axe, a boy with a tome, a man with a dark blade, all Nohrian to judge from their black armor…crumpled atop the dais itself he saw a Hoshidan archer with a cracked bow, an ominous aura still clinging to it and pulsing in time with Anankos own heart…_

_But it was the body at his feet that commanded his attention. The pale grey plate was Nohrian in appearance, but the dull gold blade beside them was ancient. Familiar._

_Yato._

_He knew, in that moment, whose corpse he stood over._

_And he knew, too, who had orchestrated their death._

_His cry echoed through the chamber as he fell to his knees before his child’s body…_

“Grampa ‘Nankos?”

He jolted awake, gasping for breath as he searched the room. No throne. No dust. No bodies. Simply a bright ballroom, crowded with sleeping children--

“What’s the matter, Grampa ‘Nankos?”

He looked down at the two young dragons on either side of him. His grandchildren, safe and well, just as their parents were, somewhere in this castle -- and it took every ounce of willpower to fight back tears at the sight of them, and to find the voice to speak around his heart lodged in his throat. “I’m fine,” he managed after a few moments. “What is it you need, little ones?”

The Kanas looked doubtfully at him, and then at each other. And in the next moment, they crawled into his lap, each one wrapping their arms around him in a tight embrace. “It’s okay, Grampa ‘Nankos,” the little boy mumbled, snuggling close as he peered up at his grandfather. “We have bad dreams, too, sometimes.”

“But it’ll be okay,” the young girl promised, smiling up at him. “We’ll be right here. It always makes it better when you’re not alone, right?” The boy nodded firmly in agreement while she nestled in beside him. 

The tears nearly choked him as he curled his arms around his grandchildren. “Thank you,” he whispered thickly. “Thank you both.”

They giggled, both settling comfortably into his embrace. One after the other, they dozed off…but rather than join them, he remained awake, unwilling to let sleep claim him again for fear of missing even a moment of this closeness that he had once only dreamed of.


	5. Grima & Fae - Sleepless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Characters:** M!Grima, M!Robin, Fae  
>  **Relationship:** Familial  
>  **Prompt:** Calming them down when they have a bad dream  
>  _Warnings:_ None

Sleep had never come easy for Robin, in his time. Grima knew this well, for it haunted the both of them now, and they often stalked the halls in the dead of night, patrolling not to fulfill an order but to exhaust the restless energy that kept them from dreams (though the insomnia rarely cooperated in that regard).

“How many days?” Grima muttered under his breath as he made his way through the corridors, glancing at the rooms lining the passage. 

_Three,_ the presence at the back of his mind sighed. _Are you as tired as I am?_

“Quite,” the fell dragon growled. At least his true form atop the castle was able to sleep peacefully, but he loathed the fact that the piece of his consciousness locked in this vessel could not find such relief.

_It’s not my fault you’re stuck here,_ Robin pointed out. 

“It is not,” Grima agreed. “But I have not slept in three days. I feel entitled to a momentary complaint.”

_…that seems fair._ The faintest trace of a smile tugged at his mouth as he continued his aimless pacing, wandering past his own quarters and continuing without pause. _You know, if we get desperate we could always ask Henry for help. Lissa mentioned a sleeping hex that he used on her a few times – it needs a live bird, but at some point it’s going to be either it or us._

A daunting prospect. All the more for the fact that he was forced to give it serious thought. He would be useless to the Order at this rate, and though he knew Kiran would forgive an error he refused to leave others to clean up his messes or pull his weight--

He stopped, tilting his head as a familiar sound caught his attention. Small, soft, coming from somewhere nearby. He followed it, weaving from one side of the corridor to the other as it grew louder…and something in his chest tightened when he found himself outside the room where the creche spent their nights. 

He had not known it before, but he recognized it now: a child’s cry. Wasting no time, he opened the door and closed it quietly behind him, allowing his eyes a moment to adjust before attempting to pick his way through the chaotic mess of pillows and stuffed animals littering the floor and making his way toward the beds clustered on the far side of the room. Muffled as that whimper had been, he could only guess who it was -- perhaps one of the Kanas, or Tiki, or--

“Papa!”

He nearly lunged toward the sound of Fae’s trembling voice, sitting on the edge of the bed and gathering her up in his arms. “I’m here, Fae,” he murmured. “I’m right here. It’s alright, it’s alright…”

She sobbed, clinging tight to his shirt as he held her. “W-w-where did you g-go-o?”

“I was patrolling--”

“N-n- _no,_ y-you were ri- _ight the-e-ere,_ a-an’ I ca-alled and called a-a-and _called_ b-but you di-idn’t sto-op a-and you neve-e-er came ba-ack a-and…”

He breathed a slow sigh, feeling the crushing guilt ease off his shoulders. “That was a dream, nothing more,” he murmured. “I am here, tiny one…and I will not leave you.”

“Promi-ise?” she whimpered, peering up at him with red-rimmed eyes. 

“I swear it,” he replied; shrugging awkwardly out of his coat without putting Fae down, Grima gently bundled her up in it, cradling her against him and leaning comfortably against the headboard. Her hand remained tightly fisted in his shirt even as her sobs and shivering eased…but when he began to hum, softly, the tips of his fingers running through her fluffy hair, her trembling fingers finally relaxed.

He smiled as she snuggled down into his embrace with a sleepy mumble. Her breaths began to slow and even…and soon enough, he had trouble keeping his own eyes open. Leaning his head back, he settled in as best he could on a bed far too small for him, and soon enough joined Fae in sleep.


	6. Robin & Cynthia - A Special Something

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Characters:** M!Robin, Sumia, Chrom, Lucina, Cynthia  
>  **Relationship:** Familial  
>  **Prompt:** Buying them a special treat when you go out shopping  
>  _Warnings:_ None  
>  _Notes:_ Fits within the continuity of [The Future Built Upon the Past](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7623532/chapters/17354746)

Despite all the changes that had washed over the halidom in recent years, Chrom and Sumia’s popularity with the people remained completely unchanged -- if anything, by Robin’s estimation they were more beloved than ever, and family outings tended to garner flocks of excited people hoping to catch a glimpse of the royals up close. 

Robin was grateful to still retain some level of anonymity. In spite of his station as Chrom’s advisor and the part he’d played in so many of the reforms, he had never garnered the same level of adulation that the Exalt and his family had. Perhaps it had to do with his Plegian origins (and insistence on displaying that heritage, despite the council’s obvious disdain), or perhaps it was simply that he could not claim any official attachment to the royal family; whatever the case, he was the only one of them that could still walk through the streets of Ylisstol without drawing more than a friendly call of greeting here and there…which was why he always volunteered to do the shopping in town, since he was the only one who wouldn’t be mobbed on sight. 

He’d become a familiar face around many of the shops, and made more than a few friends because of it. Several businesses had gone so far as to call him a patron, which he still found odd, but not unpleasant -- especially given that one was a dressmaker who, in his opinion, had made all of Sumia’s most beautiful gowns. He made sure to tell her as much as they carefully folded the latest commission (deep plum and silver, the embroidered lilacs along its hems dotted with seed pearls) and tucked it into the case Robin had brought along to take it safely back. 

“This your last stop for the day?” the woman grinned, glancing over the rest of his parcels: an armload of fresh flowers, a satchel of new books crowding out the ink and quills and parchment he’d only remembered at the last moment, a pair of sheathed swords (one rapier, one blunted broadsword since Chrom had broken the last practice blade in the garrison that morning), and now the dress case tucked beneath his free arm. 

“No, one more,” he chuckled. “Magic shop. Lucina’s started taking a bit of interest in magic, and I need a wind tome to get her started.”

“Not gonna give her Thunder?”

“Not yet -- I’d rather not risk someone getting set on fire just yet,” he grinned. “Wind tomes are good for beginners, since the worst an out-of-control spell will do is knock things around.”

“A sound point,” she agreed, catching a bottle of ink before it could fall and tucking it more securely into its bag. “Good luck, then -- and try not to buy too much more while you’re out, or you’ll never make it back.”

“I’ll make an attempt,” he promised. He had, if nothing else, planned his trip knowing he would end up carrying all he possibly could, and the magic shop was just down the street from the dressmaker; thanking her again as she saw him off, he carefully made his way to the quiet storefront and shouldered his way inside. 

“Ah, if it isn’t my favorite customer,” the man laughed, hurrying over to catch the sheaf of parchment attempting to spill out of his satchel. “Last stop of the day?”

“Last stop,” Robin smiled, carefully putting down the case and flowers and repacking his satchel. “Two wind tomes, please.”

“Someone’s getting magic lessons, eh?” the shopkeeper ventured. 

The tactician nodded, tucking ink bottles into his coat pockets to make room. “Lucina.”

“Already at that age? Gods, the time does fly -- seems like just yesterday she was but a babe in arms.” The man sighed wistfully as he offered the books to Robin, who placed them with the others in the bag before digging about for his coin purse. “And Cynthia?”

“Rambunctious,” Robin chuckled. “She takes after her mother in imagination, after her father in passion…and after them both in her penchant for breaking things.” 

The shopkeeper’s hearty laughter filled the room as the tactician counted out the coins, glancing briefly around to ensure that there was nothing else he needed--

Robin paused, tilting his head at an odd item tucked almost out of sight behind the counter. “What’s that?”

The man followed his gaze. “This?” he asked, lifting it from its place. “A little something my daughter’s been toying with. She’s been picking up the tomecrafting trade -- bit of a genius, if I might say so -- and started fussing with using what she learned for other things. This was her latest experiment. Cute, isn’t it? Not quite what she wanted, though…”

“Is it for sale?”

The store owner quirked an eyebrow. “Got something in mind?”

“I do,” Robin smiled. “…and if I could ask one more favor: do you happen to have any feathers?”

\-----

“Uncle Robin!!”

Chrom and Sumia both lunged for Cynthia as she zoomed toward the door, only to miss spectacularly; it was Lucina who succeeded in catching her younger sister before she could bowl Robin over and send all this purchases flying. 

“Thank you, Lucina,” the tactician laughed. 

“Did you buy out the whole market?” Chrom joked, picking himself up off the floor and hurrying to take some of Robin’s packages. 

“I bought what was on the list, so…yes,” he winked. “Your swords, by the way.”

“You sure you don’t want to keep them?” the Exalt asked as the tactician removed the baldric. “They look good on you.”

Robin rolled his eyes. “Take your swords and get that broadsword into the garrison before Frederick finds out you broke another one.”

“Yes, sir,” Chrom laughed, slinging them over his shoulder.

“Let’s see…we also have your flowers and your new dress,” he added, gesturing to the blooms now spilling out across the table, “plus the book order arrived at the shop.” Opening his satchel, he removed the two Wind tomes from the top and handed the rest to Sumia, who immediately began to scan the titles as he knelt before Lucina. “And I got these for us, so you can start to learn magic.”

Her eyes lit up, the Brand seeming to glow as she released her sister and took one in her hands. “Thank you, Uncle Robin,” she beamed. “When can we start?”

“When is your next training session with your father?”

“This afternoon -- after I get that training sword put back,” Chrom replied. 

“How about tomorrow, then. Can you wait that long?”

She pouted, hugging the spellbook tight to her chest. “I suppose.”

“We can start in the morning, then -- hopefully the first lesson won’t run too long…though, if it does, I suppose I’ll have to help you make up your first tutoring session of the day, won’t I?” he winked, watching her expression brighten. 

“That’s everything, right?” Chrom asked. 

“Just about,” Robin murmured; looking around, he smiled as he watched Cynthia at her mother’s side, gathering up fallen petals in her skirt. “Just one more. Cynthia?”

She looked up with a brilliant smile, petals scattering in all directions as she hurried over. “I got something for my little pega-pony princess, too.” Reaching under his coat he removed a hobby horse, its white mane decorated with a few cloth flowers and the wheel at its base framed in white feathers like pegasus wings. 

“It’s so cute!” Sumia laughed, petting its nose before he presented it to the bouncing princess. “Where did you find it?”

“The magic shop,” he replied. “It’s a bit special -- watch.” Holding it up, he released it…but rather than fall, it simply drifted down until it hung a foot off the floor. “This way you can fly, too, just like your mama.”

Cynthia gaped at it for a moment, her pudgy hands reaching out and pulling it toward her. Hopping onto the padded stick, she jumped up as high as she could into the air -- and squealed as it carried her lazily back down, continuing to hover where just the tips of her toes touched the ground. 

“Do you think she likes it?” Chrom teased as Cynthia proceeded to zip around the room. 

“I simply can’t tell,” Robin sighed, watching as she clambered up onto the nearest chair and launched herself off the arm, shrieking in delight as the hobby horse floated back down. 

“Cynthia,” her father called (though he only managed to get her attention after the third amused repetition). “Do you have something to say to your uncle?”

She beamed, zooming back to them and flinging herself into Robin’s arms with enough force to knock him out of his crouch. “Thank you thank you _thank you,_ Uncle Robin!!” she giggled. “This is the _bestest present ever!”_

“I’m glad you like it,” he murmured, hugging her tight. “You should go show it to Auntie Lissa and Owain -- I bet he’ll be thrilled to have a real pegasus knight in the Justice Cabal, don’t you?”

Her eyes lit up at the prospect, and before any of them could move she had grabbed her new toy and vanished out the open door. “I’ll keep an eye on her,” Chrom laughed, jogging out into the hall in pursuit of his youngest daughter...and Robin simply smiled as Cynthia’s laughter echoed back down the hall to his ears.


	7. Robin & Lucina - Minor Mishaps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Characters:** M!Robin, Lucina  
>  **Relationship:** Familial  
>  **Prompt:** Lightly kissing on top of a freshly formed bruise  
>  _Warnings:_ None  
>  _Notes:_ Fits within the continuity of [The Future Built Upon the Past](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7623532/chapters/17354746)

Robin sighed, leaning back in his chair and stretching his arms high over his head. He’d been at this too long, judging by the alarming series of cracks and pops that came with the movement, and he thanked the gods that Chrom hadn’t been around to hear it (because he knew, without a doubt, that the Exalt would have picked him up out of his chair and carted him out of the library if he had)--

As soon as the thought crossed his mind, he heard the door creak open behind him, and scrambled to make it seem like he was not taking his first break in several hours, glancing over his shoulder as the door closed…

…and smiling as he realized it was not Chrom come to check on him, but Lucina come to visit. “Hello, Little Light,” he chuckled, pushing his chair back and turning to greet her…but as she looked up at him with teary eyes, a stirring of panic sent him flying from his seat to kneel before her. “What’s the matter, sweetheart?” he asked, holding his hands out to her.

She sniffled, rubbing fitfully at her eyes. “I fell,” she mumbled, scuffing her shoe on the floor. 

Judging by that guilty look, that fall likely broke something nearby -- but that could wait. “Are you hurt?” he pressed gently. 

She glanced nervously up at him, seeming to expect the same looks she so often got from the castle courtiers when she snuck off to play…but Robin only looked worriedly back at her, and she sniffed again as she held her arm out and pushed her sleeve up to display a rather livid-looking bruise forming just above her elbow. Either she had fallen very hard into something, or something had fallen very hard into her. “That looks like it hurts,” he murmured, watching her nod. “Would a kiss make it feel better?”

She nodded again, more shyly, holding her arm out to him. Smiling back at her, he leaned close and touched a light kiss to the mark. “There. Better?”

She beamed, nodding excitedly as she pushed her sleeve back down. “That’s good,” he chuckled, rocking back and opening his arms to her again; without hesitation she bounced closer, hugging him tight as he wrapped his arms around her. “Now, is there a mess we might need to clean up, too?”

He felt her shrink slightly in his arms as she nodded – but he only laughed and hugged her tighter. “Don’t worry,” he whispered, “they’ll never know what happened. I promise.” 

Grinning back at him, Lucina let go as he took to his feet, holding her tiny hand out to him and making a grasping motion with her fingers until he leaned down and folded his own hand around hers. Beaming bright enough to make her Brand glow, she marched out into the hall with Robin in tow, leading the way cheerfully toward their covert mission. 


	8. Chrom/Robin - Shared Traditions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Characters:** M!Robin, Chrom  
>  **Relationship:** Romantic (Boyfriends)  
>  **Prompt:** Following their family traditions that they enjoy  
>  _Warnings:_ None  
>  _Notes:_ Fits within the continuity of [Crown of Shadows](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12162963/chapters/27604182)

“Hey! There you are!”

Robin turned, smiling fondly as Chrom jogged down the hall to meet him. “Were you looking for me?” 

“All over,” the prince agreed. “It’s Grima’s Night, after all.”

“I’m surprised you’re not dressed for the occasion,” the tactician teased. “I was expecting the ram horns to make a repeat appearance, they were quite fetching…”

“I’m not dressing up this year.”

Robin blinked, his smile fading into a worried frown. “I didn’t mean to offend you--”

“What? No! No, you didn’t upset me,” Chrom assured him. “But I thought that…w-well, I know that they celebrate Grima’s Night differently in Plegia than they do here in Ylisse, and you’re a long way from home again, so…I was thinking that maybe I could join you. If you don’t mind company. I-if you do that’s okay, but--”

Robin cut off his anxious babbling with a sudden, fierce embrace. “You’re sure?” he asked after a moment, pulling back enough to meet the prince’s eye. “I know the celebration here is important, and you and Lissa usually call a start to the festivities…”

“Emm’s filling in for me this year,” Chrom grinned. “She hasn’t done this in a while, and I think she’s excited about it. So I’m all yours tonight.”

Robin beamed, and the prince felt his heart swell with a sudden surge of warm affection. “Maribelle’s probably busy getting Lissa’s costume ready, but once she’s done I’ll ask her if I can borrow her tea set again--”

“A-actually,” Chrom interrupted, “I was….kind of hoping you hadn’t gotten set up yet. Have you?” The tactician shook his head, looking puzzled as the prince offered his hand. “Good -- follow me, then.” Heading off down the hall, he made his way up the first staircase he came across, glancing once over his shoulder to make sure Robin was following…and, satisfied to see him a step behind, continued on toward his own apartments, opening the door for the tactician to enter. 

Robin froze just inside the doorway, and once he closed the door behind them, Chrom settled his arm across the tactician’s shoulders, smiling at the parlour before them. One side of the table boasted an array of plates filled with scones and tarts and sandwiches, while an ornate silver tea service stood on the other, leaving the center clear…but for a shallow bowl lined with sand, three sticks of incense standing unlit in the middle. 

Robin turned a wondering stare on the prince. “Did…did you do all this yourself?” 

“Well, I had help with the cooking. And the tea. But I did everything else -- hopefully it’s pretty close?” He’d tried to remember all the details he could of the arrangement he’d seen when he found Robin after the last Grima’s Night celebration, but he felt like he was missing something somewhere…

“It’s perfect,” Robin breathed, moving to examine the table more closely. “This is…this is _wonderful.”_

Chrom couldn’t help but feel a bit proud of himself, and moved to join the tactician again…though, as Robin pulled a small plate and a vial of oil from his pockets, he felt anxiety prickle at the back of his neck. “Did I miss something?”

“Not at all,” the tactician smiled. “This is the last piece -- and it’s something that I need to do. Is there someone you’re hoping will join us tonight?”

Chrom rubbed the back of his neck, sitting down on the couch before the table. “Not really. I don’t remember my mother all that well, and…my father’s not someone I’d want here. I was hoping I could just…talk with your mother again. Do you think she’d mind?”

“Not in the least,” Robin beamed. “I think she’ll be pleased to hear it.” Glancing toward the windows, he nodded to himself before taking a seat at Chrom’s side, placing the dish on the table and pouring the oil out into it before removing a small stone blade from his pocket…and pressing the edge to his fingertip until blood welled from the fresh cut. 

“W-what are you doing?” Chrom demanded, pulling the tactician’s hand toward him and searching for a handkerchief to stop the bleeding--

Robin only laughed, though, patting the prince’s shoulder. “It’s tradition. The main ceremony in the capital is a bit different, but this part needs just a little bit of blood.” Grudgingly releasing the tactician’s wrist, Chrom watched as Robin stirred the oil with his cut fingertip and drew Grima’s Mark on the wood around the incense bowl. Taking the handkerchief the prince offered, he began to hum quietly, fetching a nearby lamp to light the incense…and while the fragrant smoke curled up toward the ceiling, Chrom watched as he touched the tips of his thumb and middle finger to his brow, his cheeks, and his breast, lacing his fingers and bowing his head.

“O Grima,” he said, his soft voice lilting as it carried through the room, “You who watches over us from the shadow of this world, I pray You hear my call and answer: on this night, when Your great wings so long embrace the world, allow those souls who have joined You to walk amongst us once more, that we may share again in their company under Your watchful gaze. With the wisdom granted by Your Eyes, we entreat You; with the strength granted by Your Eyes, we beseech You; with the love granted by Your Eyes, we implore You; guide them home, as Your presence guides us from the shadows.”

Opening his eyes, the tactician blushed as he met the prince’s awed stare. “I-it’s the normal invocation,” he explained. 

“It’s nice,” Chrom assured him, lifting the teapot and pouring three cups while Robin shrugged out of his coat and draped it over the back of the chair opposite the couch. Settling in beside the prince again, he smiled when Chrom placed one saucer before the seemingly empty chair, accepting the one offered to him…and leaning gently against the prince’s shoulder as he raised his own cup in a silent toast of greeting for the visiting spirits. 


	9. Grima/Emmeryn - No Matter the Distance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Characters:** Grima, Robin, Emmeryn  
>  **Relationship:** Romantic  
>  **Prompt:** Traveling long distances just to see them  
>  _Warnings:_ None  
>  _Notes:_ Fits within the continuity of [The Future Built Upon the Past](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7623532/chapters/17354746)

Grima had long ago tired of Validar and his deceits. Day in and day out, whenever their paths crossed, the man who had named himself Plegia’s king (despite swearing his loyalty to the fell dragon well before Gangrel’s demise) made every effort to cajole Grima into lending power to some cause or another: putting someone who dared defy his orders in their place, eliminating some hub of resistance or another…and each day it became harder and harder to hold back the desire to crush him where he stood and leave nothing more than a smear of ash and a fine red mist hanging above the throne. 

But each day, as that impulse rose, Robin’s voice warned gently against it. _We don’t know what will happen if we kill him now. Someone worse could fill the vacuum he leaves, and we would have no way of predicting how time will flow from there. The demon we know is far safer than the demon we don’t._

And what a vile, loathsome demon Validar had proven to be. 

As night fell over the castle, Grima stalked away from the throne room, ire smouldering in the vessel’s breast. “I tire of this.”

_I know,_ Robin sighed. _But we don’t have a choice, if we want to change things._

Perhaps not. “But I need not stay every moment.”

_…it’s a long way._

”The hour is early yet. I can be back by morning, before I am missed.”

Robin offered no further protest. Slipping into the deepest shadows beyond the sparse torchlight, Grima breathed a slow, heavy sigh, feeling the ancient magic swell and eddy in the dark…

…and in the next step, the fell dragon blinked up at the moon rising over the trees. Smiling softly, Grima strode out of the sparse woodland and past the low wall ringing the quiet hamlet just beyond the forest’s edge. The streets had already gone quiet with the fall of night, lights shining from the houses lining the road…and the fell dragon stopped on a familiar doorstep, knocking lightly and listening for any reply. 

No call came -- but the door itself opened after a moment’s pause, revealing a tall woman with golden curls framing her face. She smiled, tucking a few stray locks behind her ear and revealing the Brand at the center of her forehead as she offered her hand…

…and Grima returned that gentle expression, stepping inside and enfolding the woman’s fingers in a gentle grip. “Hello, Emmeryn. It has been too long.”

“Missed you,” she replied, closing the door and leaning against the fell dragon’s shoulder, her hand shifting just enough to lace their fingers together. And as they settled together before the hearth, Grima let Emmeryn’s quiet company soothe the bitter ache of duty, knowing that even if the dawn would part them, this moment had been well worth the journey. 


	10. Chrom/Robin - Break Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Characters:** M!Robin, Chrom  
>  **Relationship:** Romantic (Boyfriends)  
>  **Prompt:** Giving them a back massage when they flop on the couch or bed  
>  _Warnings:_ None  
>  _Notes:_ Fits within the continuity of [Second Chances](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1004622)

Robin looked up as the door opened, quirking one eyebrow as Chrom made his way across the parlour, his feet dragging with every step. Before he could open his mouth to ask, the prince tipped over, spilling out onto the couch (but somehow managing to completely miss the tactician, his face planted in the upholstery several inches away from Robin’s thigh). 

“…I take it you’ve had a hard day.”

“And it’s not even _noon_ yet,” Chrom groaned, his voice muffled in the cushion. 

“And you’re sure you don’t want my help--”

 _“No,”_ the prince interrupted, lifting his head just enough to meet the tactician’s eye. “You haven’t taken a break in gods only know how long, I am handling this so you can relax. …you’d better be relaxing.”

“I’ve been reading all morning,” Robin agreed. “It’s been very nice.”

“Good.” Seeming satisfied, Chrom lay his cheek against the fabric again, making very little effort to shift into a more comfortable position…and the tactician breathed a fond sigh, shaking his head and rising from his place. “H-hey, where are you--”

“Stretch out,” Robin murmured. The prince gave him a puzzled frown…but complied after a moment, squirming forward and pillowing his arms under his head (though one leg still hung over the side, much to Robin’s own amusement). Perching at the edge of the cushion, he settled his hands on Chrom’s shoulders, his fingers kneading gently at the tension he could feel even at a light touch…and he smiled as a soft hum rose on the air. “How’s that?” he asked.

“Nice,” the prince murmured. “Where’d you pick this up?”

“Oh, just a bit of idle reading here and there,” Robin chuckled, letting his hands trail down the prince’s back. He worked slowly, gently, paying special attention to knots he encountered; in little enough time he felt virtually no resistance whatsoever…and there he paused, leaning aside to look at Chrom’s face. “Do you have more audiences this afternoon?”

“Mmmmnyes,” the prince mumbled. 

“…should I stop before you fall asleep?”

“Noooooo,” Chrom protested, snuggling yet more obstinately into his spot. “Don’t stop…”

“Should I wake you if it gets too late, then?”

“Worse comes to worst, Frederick’ll find me.”

“…alright, then,” Robin laughed, running his hands back up to the prince’s shoulders. And as another contented hum rose on the air, the tactician smiled, settling in close to continue his quiet ministrations. 


	11. Grima & Robin - Comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Characters:** M!Robin, Grima  
>  **Relationship:** Familial (Siblings)  
>  **Prompt:** Tucking your head into their neck during a hug  
>  _Warnings:_ Implied Abuse  
> 

Grima ached. Every limb, every joint, down into his very bones, pain was all he knew as he dragged himself through the halls. Just a little further. Just a bit more, and he could sleep. 

He stumbled and very nearly lost his balance entirely, barely catching himself against the wall. His knees still faltered, though, and he slid still further down before managing to steady himself, fearful that if he fell he would not be able to rise again. 

Forcing himself up, Grima staggered on another step, using the wall for balance until he managed to find his feet. He breathed a shaky sigh, stumbling on down the passage, letting his hand trail along the wall until his fingers found the archway leading to his own quarters. Shouldering his way past the dark fabric screening the doorway, he peeled the bloody robes from his skin, discarding them in a heap on the floor before crawling into bed--

Something stirred beneath the blankets. 

Grima froze, unable to breathe as Robin sat up in the dark. “What are you doing here?” he whispered.

“I was waiting for you,” Robin yawned. “You didn’ come say night night, so I came to get you. I got sleepy though.” The child tilted his head slightly, squinting at Grima through the dark. “What happen?”

“Nothing,” he insisted. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there to tuck you in with mama. Let’s get you back…”

Even as he said the words, though, Grima knew he would never be able to guide Robin there. But the child shook his head fiercely, squirming free of the blankets and holding his arms out to Grima…and he sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling Robin into a gentle hug. 

He felt the child’s arms wrap tight around his neck, frail as the wings of his namesake. “Wanna stay here,” he mumbled. “Wanna stay with you. Please?”

His resolve crumbled in the face of that plea, and the comfort of that warm, soft embrace as he lay his cheek against Robin’s shoulder, tucking his head helplessly against the child’s neck. “Alright,” he whispered. “Just for tonight.”

A happy sound fluttered in Robin’s chest as he snuggled closer, and Grima felt a smile tug at his lips as he fell back across the bed with the child still tucked against his chest. Shifting just enough to wrap the blankets around them both, he felt the pain and tension slowly fade in the face of Robin’s innocent affection, and sleep followed close on the heels of their absence. 


	12. Tiki & Anna - Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Characters:** Tiki, Anna  
>  **Relationship:** Platonic  
>  **Prompt:** Having a tickle fight until you’re breathless  
>  _Warnings:_ None  
> 

“No.”

“Oh, _come on! Pleaaaaase,_ Tiki?”

“I have spoken my peace.” She turned away from the merchant, crossing her arms firmly over her chest. 

“Tikiiiiiiiii,” Anna whined, gamboling around to face her again. “I swear, it really is for a good cause!”

“As I recall, you said the same thing the last time,” the dragon noted, once more turning her back on the woman. “And the time before that. And the time before that. I have grown tired of your deceit. Your altruism is but a facade for your boundless avarice, and I refuse to play unwitting part in your schemes any longer.”

“But I _really mean it_ this time!” Anna protested, skidding into view once more. “I’ve got a good cause lined up and everything, I just need this one little thing--”

_“No._ And that is _final.”_

_“Pleaaaaaase--”_

Tiki whirled on the merchant, reaching for her dragonstone -- and in the same moment Anna, seeming to believe that the dragon had relented, lunged to hug her, which brought the both of them crashing to the ground. Between the dragon’s furious snarls and the merchant’s own babbled apologies as they tried to be free of one another, Tiki was certain they would soon draw attention from the Shepherds at the bottom of the hill--

As Anna tried to pull away, she touched the dragon’s sides -- a careless gesture made in error, lacking any true intent -- but Tiki curled instinctively away, tittering at the ticklish sensation. For a moment, they both froze, and the dragon turned a warning stare on the merchant...who met it with a catlike smile of her own. And then Anna attacked in earnest, mercilessly targeting any places Tiki left unguarded while the dragon’s helpless laughter rang through the air. Unwilling to allow the woman to claim victory unhindered, Tiki lashed out in like kind, and soon enough Anna’s own giggling had overtaken even the dragon’s own. 

After several minutes they finally rolled apart, barely able to breathe through the laughter. “T-the-ere,” the merchant panted after several minutes. “No-o-ow was tha-at so ba-ad?”

Tiki gave her a wry look as she sat up, shakily combing grass and twigs out of her hair. “I assume yo-ou got what you wante-ed?” 

Anna grinned, pointing into the tree nearby where, on closer inspection, Tiki could see a curious tome tucked away. She should have expected as much. “And what precisely is this worthy cause of yours?”

The woman rolled to her feet, skipping over to fetch the spellbook from its place and returning to the dragon’s side…before offering it down to her. “Here you go. On the house.”

Tiki took it curiously, opening the front cover -- and immediately the sound of laughter greeted her, accompanied by her own image rolling about in the grass with the merchant. “Picked it up for a song from someone who didn’t know what it was. I figured…well, you’re a dragon and all, and you’re going to outlive all of us, so…this way you don’t have to worry about memories getting foggy. I thought it would be nice getting a shot of you smiling for the beginning, but this worked out a lot better, if you ask me. It’s pretty easy to use, I can show you how to set it up and get it running…so? What do you think? Did I pick a good cause this time?”

Tiki smiled, closing the tome gently and pulling it close. “I misjudged you,” she murmured. “Thank you, Anna.”

The woman patted her shoulder as she crouched down again. “Think nothing of it. Anything for a friend.”


	13. Chrom/Robin - Night Terrors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Characters:** M!Robin, Chrom  
>  **Relationship:** Romantic (Boyfriends)  
>  **Prompt:** Calming them down when they have a bad dream  
>  _Warnings:_ None  
>  _Notes:_ Fits within the continuity of [Second Chances](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1004622)

_Chrom stared out at the blackened plains stretching into the distance, a sickening horror burning in the back of his throat. Mountains of corpses rose up toward the bloody sky, the screams of the dying blowing around him on a hot, dry wind where he stood overlooking the slaughter. Gods, what had happened -- who could have done this…_

_His hands curled, and he felt his fingers tighten around the hilt of a sword. Looking down, he found Falchion resting at his side, its blade the same color as the heavens above…and at his feet a figure lay, crumpled in seeming supplication. His pale hair stood in stark contrast to the scorched ground beneath their feet, and the prince felt his heart twist as he cast his sword aside, kneeling to help Robin up--_

_He was cold. Chrom choked on a new wave of terror as he rolled the tactician onto his back, staring down at his half-lidded eyes already long dark, the black streaks trailing from the corners of his mouth, his blood-drenched shirt and the gaping wound beneath…_

_He had done this. With his own hands, he had done this, and a scream clawed its way out of his chest…_

“Chrom!”

He gasped, his hands twisting in the bedsheets as he tried to get his bearings. No red sky. No bodies. Just the familiar dark blue hangings around his bed, a band of moonlight spilling across the coverlet…and silvering Robin’s locks as he leaned over the prince, his hands fretfully smoothing Chrom’s hair away from his face. 

“Robin?”

The tactician smiled at him -- and a sob tore through the prince’s chest as he surged upright, pulling Robin tight against him and pressing his head against the man’s shoulder. He felt the tactician stiffen for a fraction of a second…and then he relaxed, one hand running up and down Chrom’s back while the other played gently through his hair. “It’s alright,” he breathed, touching a kiss to the prince’s temple. “It’s alright. I’m here. It was just a nightmare. I’m right here, Chrom, it’s alright…”

The prince calmed gradually in the face of Robin’s touch, his voice, the soft kisses peppered across his cheeks and brow quieting the lingering terror until at last his tears ceased. But even then, he did not let go…and the tactician did not ask it of him, instead beginning to rock them slowly while his fingers continued to piece through Chrom’s hair. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked. The prince shook his head firmly, clinging tighter by way of answer…and he felt another kiss flutter against his temple as Robin returned that embrace. “We could read for a while, if you’d like? That usually helps me settle after a bad dream.”

Chrom nodded after a moment’s thought, and heard the tactician’s soft laughter against his ear. “Let’s go find a lamp, then, shall we? I don’t want to ruin my eyes,” he teased, echoing the prince’s usual chiding. A smile twitched at Chrom’s lips as he eased his grip, allowing Robin to slip free…but rather than leave, the tactician folded his hand around the prince’s, drawing him up as he slid out of bed. And hand in hand, they moved together through the moonlit dark, leaving the last of the terrors behind. 


	14. Chrom/Robin - Visual Impairment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Characters:** M!Robin, Chrom  
>  **Relationship:** Romantic (Boyfriends)  
>  **Prompt:** Tucking their hair behind their ear to help them get it out of their face  
>  _Warnings:_ None  
>  _Notes:_ Fits within the continuity of [Second Chances](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1004622)

”It’s getting long, isn’t it?”

Robin shook his head, trying with only limited success to get the hair out of his face without actually reaching up to do so. “Unfortunately,” he huffed, attempting instead to blow the most troublesome locks away from his eyes (and meeting similarly poor results). It had been a while since he’d last trimmed it, and it was beginning to drive him a bit mad; unfortunately, finding even a brief moment to breathe had been a challenge of late -- time enough to take a knife to his hair was nigh impossible. 

Chrom chuckled as he took a seat at the tactician’s side. “You know, you could do something about that, if you wanted.”

“We have a council meeting in ten minutes,” Robin sighed. “I can’t handle it that quickly, and even then I need to finish this before we leave--”

“How are you going to finish it if you can’t even see it?” the prince teased. The tactician paused just long enough to fix Chrom with a flat stare…made rather pointless as he once again tried ineffectively to blow the locks out of his face well enough to see the prince at all. 

Chrom made a valiant, futile attempt to stifle his laughter. “Alright, alright,” he conceded, reaching out and brushing the worst offenders away, tucking them behind Robin’s ears. “There. Better?”

“…much,” the tactician conceded, offering a shy smile before turning back to his frantic scribbling. The prince shifted his chair a bit closer, leaning in to watch as Robin’s clipped script filed down the page…and as the strands tucked so tenuously back began to drift free, his warm touch drew them away once more. 

“As soon as this meeting is over, you’re taking care of it,” Chrom warned as the tactician blotted the page and rolled it up. “Don’t make me call it an order.”

“Of course, Captain,” Robin teased, winking as he rose from his seat. The prince grinned as he took to his own feet…and as they reached the library door, the tactician felt that gentle hand once more tuck a stray lock out of his face, leaving a fond smile blooming in the wake of its touch. 


	15. Chrom/Robin - Necessary Rest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Characters:** M!Robin, Chrom  
>  **Relationship:** Romantic (Boyfriends)  
>  **Prompt:** Making sure to be quiet while they’re taking a nap  
>  _Warnings:_ None  
>  _Notes:_ Fits within the continuity of [Second Chances](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1004622)

Chrom shouldered his way into the tent, sweeping a hand through his bedraggled hair and feeling the cold rainwater spill down the back of his neck. “Gods, it’s awful out there,” he muttered, glancing under his cape to be sure that the books and parchment he’d been carrying had made it through the storm undamaged. “Hopefully this is what you needed, though. It took a while to find the books -- Miriel needs them back when you’re done, by the way -- but luckily the parchment made it through oka…”

He trailed off, staring at the tactician slumped over the desk. His immediate surge of panic faded as the man snuggled deeper into his sleeves with a sleepy mumble…but after another moment he quieted, settling back into his doze rather than waking. 

Chrom could count the number of times he’d caught Robin sleeping on one hand. He’d gotten into the habit of checking the palace archives nightly to make sure that the tactician wasn’t still working, and even when they shared a bed the prince often woke to find Robin already poring over some tome or parchment. And he knew that it had gotten worse since they left Ylisstol to address this (minor, in Frederick’s view, but still important in Chrom’s) quarrel between neighboring towns before it came to blows. 

Once the initial shock wore off, he couldn’t say he wasn’t pleased to see Robin getting some kind of rest. He just had to make sure the tactician stayed that way. Picking his way over to the table, he placed the books and papers on the far side before backing away…and he breathed a silent sigh when Robin did not stir. Moving to the back of the tent, he gathered a fresh change of clothes from his traveling effects, peeling out of his soaked garments and donning the dry ones as quietly as he could manage…and glancing over his shoulder at anxious intervals to be sure that the tactician hadn’t stirred. 

But to his surprise (and relief), he managed the whole process without disturbing Robin’s rest. Rising to his feet, the prince gathered up one of the blankets stacked alongside his bedroll, unfolding it as he crept back to the desk…and with all the care he could manage, he draped it over the tactician’s shoulders to stave off the chill. Robin breathed a quiet sigh, nestling into the warmth as Chrom ran one hand over his hair, barely close enough to stir the unkempt locks. And then he took a seat across from the sleeping tactician, turning his attention back to their work, hoping to settle all he could so that Robin could rest easy. 


	16. Grima/Emmeryn - Through the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Characters:** Grima, Emmeryn  
>  **Relationship:** Romantic  
>  **Prompt:** Sharing a soft smile across a crowded room  
>  _Warnings:_ None  
> 

Grima had begun to loathe the Ylissean court. Everywhere he turned there were judgments and japes at his expense, snide leers and gawking stares, laughter at each custom he could not divine and indignation at each name he could not recall. It grew tiresome after a markedly short time. Things were simpler in Plegia, where there were no Houses, no pointlessly elaborate manners, no cruelty veiled behind pretty words (for even his father’s words were never kind, only poison spoken in a honey-sweet tone). But he was far from home now, and leaving seemed but a distant dream. 

So he skulked in the shadows of the grandly appointed ballroom, ignoring the snide remarks from the aristocrats in all their ostentatious finery. Scanning the room, he was relieved to find that Robin was not in attendance -- likely for the best, given what had so nearly happened at the last of these affairs (the jabs toward himself were irksome, but he would not tolerate barbs toward his brother). The Ylissean prince, too, was notably absent. Perhaps they were together: they had taken to one another with surprising speed, and for all that he was certain Chrom imagined himself subtle, his glances across the meal table toward the Plegian prince were impossible to ignore. 

Grima would be glad for it, if they had managed such an escape. Better if he alone suffered here. He had grown numb to such abuses long ago, and if he could spare Robin it was well worth the effort--

His gaze swept over a familiar face, and despite himself, he paused. The Ylissean Exalt drifted across the far side of the room, bright as the moon while the halidom’s nobles swirled around her baying for favor. She smiled serenely through it all, but he knew that she endured them through strength of will alone…

She looked up, meeting his eye by chance (and he straightened to his full height in the shadow of an alabaster column, though he could not tell himself just why).

And then she beamed, bright and soft as starlight. His breath caught, a shy smile tugging at his own lips -- and he watched her expression grow warmer still in turn. It stunned him, to think that such a gesture might have been for him…yet as she turned away, her warmth faded, hiding far beyond the reach of the aristocrats around her. 

His stance relaxed slowly as she drifted from his line of sight, his attention wandering once more across the crowded room. But he could still feel the smile at the corners of his mouth…and for once, he did not try to smooth it away. 


	17. Chrom & Grima - Measure of Worth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Characters:** Chrom, M!Grima  
>  **Relationship:** Platonic  
>  **Prompt:** Listening to them while they vent  
>  _Warnings:_ None  
> 

The door closed soundly in Grima’s face. 

For a moment more, he simply stared at it, memorizing the grain of the wood just beyond the tip of his vessel’s nose. And then he turned, stalking off into the dark. The lamps had long ago been lit through the halls, but he gave their light wide berth, unwilling to be seen by any who might still be about at such an hour…for with every step, something coiled tighter in his chest, rage strangling any compassion he might have once dredged up for the members of this Order of supposed Heroes. 

He lost all track of where his steps carried him. He knew only that there was something building in him, something violent, something explosive, something that would tear him apart if he did not release it -- and in the murky half-light of the empty corridor, he slammed his fist into the wall beside him, the stone cratering beneath the impact. 

He heard something behind him. The faintest ringing of metal, plates of armor scraping as someone moved. Glancing over his shoulder through the violet flames that cloaked him…

The Exalted Prince of Ylisse stood several paces back, watching him with undisguised concern (but even the flare of guilt from the presence at the back of his mind could not outweigh the anger burning through him). He saw the man’s gaze flick between the dent in the wall and the fell dragon’s face…

“Something on your mind?” he asked. 

Grima felt one brow rise unbidden, watching the prince move to stand beside him. “What concern is it of yours?” he shot back. 

“You seem like something’s bothering you.” They both glanced at the cracked stone beside them. “Do you want to talk about it? It might help to get it off your chest.” 

“Have you nowhere better to be?” On closer inspection, he bore a small plate in each hand, the utensils competing admirably against the large cake slices attempting to push them to the ground. 

Chrom followed the fell dragon’s gaze, a sheepish grin overtaking his expression. “I’m trying to bribe Robin out of the library. He feels guilty if he’s the only one getting a treat, so I bring two.”

“You don’t like sweets,” Grima remarked.

“Has that ever stopped Robin from feeling guilty?” the prince pointed out -- which, the fell dragon had to admit, was a very sound point. “I’ll take a bite or two and that’s usually enough to satisfy him, and then I can give him the rest.”

“Chivalrous to a fault, aren’t you.” Chrom shrugged, his charming smile once more giving way to concern as he tilted his head, moving toward a door further down the hall. Grima followed, watching for a few moments as the prince tried in vain to turn the handle with his elbow before finally taking pity on the man and opening it for him. Rolling his eyes at the grateful smile the prince turned on him, the fell dragon moved into the small sitting room, taking one of the chairs and bowing his head over his folded hands. He heard the door close, the plates settle on the nearest table…

And then silence. 

Glancing up, he found Chrom’s earnest attention focused entirely on him. Grima quirked a brow at him again, but the prince did not speak, instead gesturing invitingly for the fell dragon to begin. Sighing, he prepared to take to his feet again, ready to declare this a waste of time–

“Anna ordered the Kanas onto the field today.”

He was surprised by the words. Moreso by the fact that they would not stop once they started. “I argued against it -- Kiran, as well -- but she refused to heed us. The Order needed _dragons_ for the fight. Gods only know why.”

Chrom said nothing, but the fell dragon could see his concern in the tension of his folded hands. “It went badly. And I could not protect them. The boy was hurt. The girl reverted. We won only by virtue of Kiran’s tactics. Her father is upset, and I cannot blame him. I spoke harshly of him once. And all I can think is…what I must have done wrong. I am _Grima,_ I am their _protector,_ and I _failed them --_ they were _wounded_ for my failings, they _suffered_ for my failings, and _what am I_ if I cannot keep them safe?”

His breath sounded harsh in the still air as he gripped his vessel’s Branded hand. Still, the prince remained silent, and he braced himself for the inevitable diatribe--

“You’re the fell dragon, of course.”

He started, lifting his head to meet Chrom’s eye -- and the prince met him with a smile. “You don’t stop being _you_ just because you have a bad day. If that were true, I’d have stopped being Chrom after I lost Robin. But I didn’t. Things went wrong today, and it’s hard. But both of them will be okay -- Kiran will make sure of that -- and you will, too. Just take it as a lesson, pick yourself up, and keep going.”

Grima mustered a wry smile. “Quite the speech. Who gave you the words?”

“I think you know,” Chrom grinned. “Feel better?”

“I feel rather less like razing Askr to the ground,” the fell dragon conceded.

“Well, that’s a good start,” the prince laughed, taking one of the plates and passing it into the fell dragon’s hands. “Maybe this will help, too. Gaius always says sweets take the bitterness out of life.”

“What of your bribe?” he remarked, watching as Chrom stood and collected the other. 

“I’ll just tell him it went to a better cause.” The prince winked, and the fell dragon shook his head, lifting the fork from the side of the plate. “It’ll get better,” he added. “I know it. Take care.”

Grima watched the man take his leave, listening to the sound of his armor fade into silence. And only then did he smile to himself, taking a bite of his cake and letting the sweetness soften the last of his anger. 


	18. Yarne & Noire - Facing Fears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Characters:** Yarne, Noire, M!Robin  
>  **Relationship:** Platonic  
>  **Prompt:** Telling them a dumb joke just to see their smile  
>  _Warnings:_ None  
>  _Notes:_ Fits within the continuity of [The Future Built Upon the Past](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7623532/chapters/17354746)

Yarne was one of the biggest people Noire knew, in all the strangest ways. He was taller than most all of the Shepherds’ children, despite being one of the youngest like her. But despite how big and impressive he looked, he was also the biggest scaredy-cat among them, preferring to run away from the battlefield rather than toward it. 

Not that she could blame him, exactly. If the creepy undead monsters they were fighting weren’t bad enough, he was the last of the Taguel from their world, and one of the last even here in the past they’d come to change. It was a lot of pressure, especially for such a softie like him.

But he was trying. More and more lately, now that they were all back together, she’d seen him joining the ranks on the battlefield more often. Not all the time, but more than she was used to. 

It made her feel better seeing him there. Which made her feel a little bad, since she knew he was putting so much at risk. But she knew how scared he was, and it made her feel less insecure about how nervous she was, too, as she filed in beside him. It was nice, having somebody as afraid as she was stepping up to do this. 

“Are you ready?” she asked, peering out at the battlefield while Uncle Robin (well, his younger self, at least) explained the battle plan. 

“N-n-n-n-no-o,” Yarne stammered back, his voice pitched two octaves higher than usual. 

She glanced up at him, watching him shake and shiver like a leaf in a windstorm. She wondered if he could even transform, trembling like that, or if he’d drop his stone when he tried. And then he’d be in danger, and…

She shook her head firmly, clutching her bow just a little tighter. “Y-you know, Uncle Henry used to have…a-all kinds of sayings about going out on the field. Like…l-like ‘if you ever need a hand out there, just look down, there’s probably one lying around somewhere!’”

Yarne went a little green at that, and Noire hunched her shoulders. She sometimes forgot how morbid Uncle Henry’s jokes could be. “Y-you know what else he said, though?”

“I-i-if you need a leg up I f-found one you could borro-ow?”

She jumped, looking up at the taguel as he sheepishly scratched the fuzzy spot on his chest. 

And then she doubled over, laughing so hard that she heard the tactician’s voice pause mid-word. But she couldn’t help it -- those were the _last_ words she’d expected to hear coming out of Yarne’s mouth (and definitely the first that would be coming out of Uncle Henry’s).

“Is everything alright over here?” Uncle Robin asked, moving down the line preemptively to check on them. 

“Yes!” Noire gasped, still trying to get her giggles under control. “Y-yes, everything’s fine, s-sorry to interrupt, sir!” He didn’t look quite convinced, but he gave her shoulder a gentle pat of encouragement before moving back to where he’d been organizing the cavaliers. She grinned up at Yarne, catching the tiniest hint of a smile on his (still green) face. “Okay, one more: if you get scared out there, just look around and you’ll find me right by your side, ‘cause you’re my best _bunny.”_

The Taguel’s ears flicked up slightly. “That doesn’t sound like Uncle Henry.”

“…I may have made it up myself just now,” Noire confessed.

Yarne grinned, planting his hands on his hips. “I think I like it better, though. Your best _bunny’s_ gonna do his best out there -- just you watch.”

He was still shaking. But not quite so much anymore. She smiled back, straightening up just a little -- and even though she barely reached his shoulder, she still felt bigger than she ever had before. 


	19. Chrom/Robin - Aches and Pains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Characters:** F!Robin, Chrom  
>  **Relationship:** Romantic  
>  **Prompt:** Washing their back/hair in the shower  
>  _Warnings:_ None  
>  _Notes:_ Fits within the continuity of [Accursed Divine](https://archiveofourown.org/series/750435)

Robin couldn’t quite remember why she’d invited Sully train her. Worse yet, she’d brushed aside the cavalier’s warnings that she wouldn’t take it easy on her, insisting that she could handle it. 

As it turned out, she could not. 

It seemed a frank miracle that she’d survived to the end of the session. She was sore in places she hadn’t known existed, had knots in some very inconvenient locations, and if she didn’t look like one big bruise come morning she would be absolutely shocked. Limping her way back into Ylisstol Castle (a feat made extremely difficult by the fact that she couldn’t seem to lift her legs more than an inch off the ground anymore), she slowly worked her way through the halls in pursuit of her own bed…or, at the very least, a chair. She could definitely make do with a chair. 

“Oh, hey! Robin!” 

She paused, turning very carefully as Chrom jogged up beside her. “You’re free remarkably early,” she remarked, smiling back as he grinned at her. “How were your meetings?”

“Surprisingly painless, for once,” he chuckled. “How was your training with Sully? That was today, right…?” He paused, looking her over more carefully as she offered a wry stare. “Oof. That bad, huh? Come on, I know just the thing to help.”

He gestured for her to follow, winding his way through the halls at a fraction of his usual pace so that she could keep up. Opening a door, he bowed as he held it open for her, and she gave a weak attempt at a curtsy with her coat as she stepped inside…

Warm, fragrant steam filled her lungs as she looked around the castle baths. Of the three basins set into the floor, only one was full, but she could see the heat swirling off it in wisps and curls of fog, and it was very difficult not to simply jump in with all her clothes still on. She managed to hold herself back, though, trying to shrug her stiff shoulders to dislodge her robe--

“Need a hand?”

She felt him lift it just enough for her to get her arms out, and cast a grateful glance behind her. “Yes. If you’re not too busy.”

“Not in the least,” he agreed, folding the robe and setting it aside before starting on her belts. She discarded the gloves herself, lifting her arms as high as she could manage (which, sadly, was not very far at all) as he helped her to struggle free of her shirt. The boots proved to be the most trouble, and she ended up needing to sit on the tiles at the edge of the tub to get them off -- but once that was through, her trousers seemed simple, and then she slid into the warm water with a sigh of utmost relief. 

“So…how would you feel about a bit of company?” Chrom ventured after a moment.

She tilted her head just enough to see him, a teasing smile tugging at her lips. “There’s more than enough room, I’d say.” His grin was the last thing she saw as she slid just a bit further down, blowing a few bubbles as her mouth dipped below the waterline…and moments later, she felt the ripples of another body slide into the bath beside her. 

It was quiet for a few moments as Robin let the heat seep into her aching bones, loosening the knots and gradually unwinding the tension that had nested all through her. But eventually she heard Chrom take a breath, and tilted her head invitingly without opening her eyes. “Do you need any help? With your hair or anything?”

…that might actually be a good idea, when she thought about it. She’d been drenched in sweat and more than a little grubby by the time Sully called it a day, so something more than a hot soak would probably be good. Wriggling up just enough to get her head above water, she cast a shy smile in his direction. “If you don’t mind, I’d be glad for it.”

“It would be my pleasure,” he replied, bowing low enough that his bangs dipped into the water (and her giggling only made him smile that much more). Tipping her head back to wet her hair, she turned her back on him, beginning to scrub away at her arms and shoulders as his fingers worked through her hair…

She paused as a soft floral scent joined the warm steam. “Do you smell that?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder. 

“Hm? Oh, it’s some lavender oil. For your hair. I thought it might be nice. Is that okay?”

She beamed, reaching back to touch his fingers. “It’s wonderful. Thank you,” she murmured. He beamed, squeezing her hand gently in turn before they each settled back to their work…and long before they were through (and in spite of the sore muscles that she knew would haunt her for some time yet), Robin felt better than she had when the day first began. 


	20. Sully/Sumia - Book Buddies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Characters:** Sully, Sumia  
>  **Relationship:** Romantic (Girlfriends)  
>  **Prompt:** Participating in their hobby even if it doesn’t personally interest you.  
>  _Warnings:_ None  
> 

Sumia sighed, closing her book and hugging it tight to her chest. It hurt, sometimes, to finish a good story, and this one had been great. Action! Drama! Suspense! Romance! Everything she loved, all wrapped up between two covers. Gods, she couldn’t wait to share it with Robin…

But even as the thought crossed her mind, she sagged a little deeper in her chair. As much as she _wanted_ to share it with him, she wouldn’t have a chance for at least another fortnight, since he was off on that diplomatic mission in Ferox with Chrom. She hoped he was having a good time, at least. Even if it did mean she’d have to bottle up her excitement for another two weeks -- good thing he was a fast reader…

The door to the garrison crashed open, and she leaned around the side of her chair to see Sully standing in the doorway, looking around in a frenzy. “Are you trying to find somebody?” she called, waving to get the cavalier’s attention. 

Sully turned toward her, kicking the door closed and marching across the room like a woman on a mission. “Yeah, I’m lookin’ for you!” she replied, planting her hands on her hips as she stopped by the side of the chair. 

Oh no. That didn’t sound good. “D-did I forget about training?” Sumia asked, twisting a lock of hair anxiously around her finger. “I made sure to do my cleaning duties here, I promise I did--”

“What’re you on about?” the cavalier demanded, pulling another armchair closer and dropping into the seat. “I wanna know what the _fuck_ was up with that ending! Is there a sequel I don’t know about or somethin’? ‘Cause that whole nightmare thing, gettin’ sucked down into that tar stuff an’ wakin’ up in the middle’a nowhere? You can’t just _end_ on that!” 

The pegasus knight stopped. And frowned. “W…w-what are we talking about?” she asked, slightly worried about the answer she might get. 

“This!” Sully huffed, pulling something from her satchel and holding it out. Sumia recognized it even before she took hold of it: the cover illustration was unmistakable.

“ _The Mystic Sorcery of Madame Shambles…_?” She glanced nervously at the cavalier, who nodded firmly in agreement. 

“You left it lying around a while back. Looked kinda interesting, and since Robin was headin’ up north for a month, figured you might start missing your book buddy.”

“…I thought you didn’t like books,” Sumia ventured. 

Sully shrugged. “This one was pretty good. So, are ya gonna tell me if there’s a sequel or not?”

A brilliant smile swept across the pegasus knight’s face. “I actually just finished it,” she giggled, offering the book she’d been holding. “But I’m pretty sure I probably missed something. Do you maybe…want to read it together?”

“ _Would_ I?” the cavalier laughed, hopping up from her own chair and settling on the arm of Sumia’s. “When can we start?”

“Right now, if you want,” the pegasus knight beamed, scooting further to the side to make room. Sully slid in next to her, wrapping her arm around Sumia’s shoulders and leaning in close as the pegasus knight once more opened the covers and started from the beginning, her voice perhaps a bit too happy for the moody opening -- but the cavalier didn’t seem to mind, and Sumia didn’t think she could change it even if she tried. 


	21. Chrom & Morgan - Dress for Success

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Characters:** Chrom, F!Morgan  
>  **Relationship:** Parental  
>  **Prompt:** Wearing clothes in their favorite color  
>  _Warnings:_ None  
>  _Notes:_ Fits within the continuity of [The Future Built Upon the Past](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7623532/chapters/17354746)

Of all the things that bothered Chrom about being Exalt, the clothes were certainly one of the worst. The heavy regalia and associated finery, from the densely embroidered and ornamented robes to the fur-trimmed velvet cape, made moving a challenge at the best of times (though summer’s sweltering humidity made matters infinitely worse) and he particularly dreaded the days when he needed to oversee audiences from dawn until dusk in those constricting garments. 

It was a relief when he managed to get even a moment of freedom on such days, and when a break appeared in the line of Ylisseans seeking favors, he did not waste the opportunity, rising from his seat and making his way out of the room by way of the hidden door set just behind the throne. Breathing a weary sigh, he considered removing the diadem outright, decided against it, and turned instead to fussing with the clasp of his cape--

“Father?”

He stopped, looking down the hall…and staring as Morgan waddled over, dressed in what appeared to be one of his Shepherd uniforms. “Hello, Morgan,” he chuckled, crouching down as best he could manage in the overly embellished clothes. “And what are you up to? Where’s Papa?”

“He an’ Luci are doing magicky things,” she said, bouncing on the tips of her toes. “An’ Mama took Cynthi onna peggy-sis ride.” Which meant that she’d probably made a daring escape from Frederick’s babysitting -- she really did take after Robin, if she could get past the great knight. 

“And what’s this, then?” he asked, adjusting the overlarge tunic on her small shoulders and carefully pinning the cape clasp she’d left unfastened. 

“I found it!” she beamed, showing off another gap where a baby tooth had apparently gone missing since the night before (and part of him hoped that it hadn’t been knocked out from a fall as she ran around in his old clothes…though the lack of blood seemed somewhat reassuring). 

“Where?” he prompted, idly tightening the baldric so it held her tunic a bit better and adjusting the belt to wrap around her waist, rather than her knees.

“I ‘unno,” she shrugged. “It was inna box.”

The Exalt chuckled fondly as she looked down at her slightly better fitting attire. “Are you off to play Justice Cabal with Owain, then?” Morgan shook her head, rocking back and forth between her heels and toes. “No? What’s this for, then?”

“‘Cause I wanna be like Father!”

Chrom felt his heart stop for a moment. “R-really?” 

She nodded excitedly in agreement, nearly losing her balance in the process. “Cynthi wants to ride a peggy-sis like Mama, an’ Luci’s learning magic like Papa. An’ I wanna be like you! An’ Aunti Mari says you have to _dress for success!”_ She struck a valiant pose that looked comically similar to one of Maribelle’s noble flourishes, and he had to cover his mouth to quiet his laughter. “I’ve seen lots’a paintings of Father in this kinda clothes, too, so…”

The Exalt beamed, gathering Morgan up in his arms and hauling himself back up to his feet. “Well, then,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head, “how would you like to sit with me for a while and help me work?”

Her eyes lit up at the prospect. Grinning down at her, Chrom offered a mischievous wink as he pushed his way back through the secret door into the throne room, striding across the dais and taking his seat again as a courtier filed in to announce the next audience seeker. The man paused very briefly as he looked between the Exalt and the child in his lap…but Chrom only smiled and gestured for him to proceed, watching his daughter sit up just a bit straighter as she tried to mimic her Father’s posture. 

And maybe this time (even if it was just for a little while) his finery wouldn’t bother him so much as he worked. 


	22. Grima/Emmeryn - Private Pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Characters:** Grima, Emmeryn  
>  **Relationship:** Romantic  
>  **Prompt:** Listening to them while they vent  
>  _Warnings:_ Implied/referenced abuse, physical abuse aftermath  
> 

Grima wandered the maze of Ylisstol Castle’s winding corridors without the least idea of where he was, and caring equally little. He did not feel lost. That required purpose. And he had none, beyond the simple desire to move, and let the anger coiled in his chest work itself loose. 

So he followed the moonlight streaked across the cold stone floor, turning into the deep shadow of unused hallways and giving wide berth to the flickering lamps that lined the common routes of guards and servants. He crept up staircases concealed behind tapestries, drifted through deserted passageways within the heart of the Ylisseans’ lavish prison, his gaze wandering across the adornments and ornamentation they used to conceal the truth from themselves--

A door opened behind him. But he did not pause, did not turn, did not rush, simply continuing on his aimless journey…

“Grima?”

He stopped at the familiar call. Quiet footsteps padded up behind him, but he remained still, staring fixedly at the wall ahead. “What are you doing about at this hour?” Emmeryn asked. 

“Taking a walk.”

“There are far more pleasant places for that,” she teased--

Her hand touched his arm, and he jerked away, lips curling into an instinctive snarl even as she recoiled. 

But her gaze was not one of fear. “What happened?”

He stepped back as she reached toward his face. “It is of no concern. A simple hex will see to it.”

“You should tend it now,” the woman argued. 

“I will see it done when I return to my rooms--”

“When will that be?”

“I know not.”

“Then allow me to see to it.”

“Do not trouble yourse--”

“It’s no trouble. I’d be worried otherwise.”

He stared at her for a moment through narrowed eyes, waiting for her to back down. But she did not, meeting his eye without flinching and offering him her hand. 

In the end, it was he who conceded, his gaze turning down to the ground. “Do as you will.”

She did not move, her hand still extended toward him. At last he sighed, letting his fingers rest against her own -- and she smiled, squeezing them gently and turning to lead him back to the room she’d left. It appeared at a glance to be a pleasant parlour room, a blaze crackling in the hearth, moonlight streaming through large glass windows overlooking the castle gardens. She led him to one of the couches arranged before the fireplace, and he sat without further argument, gazing into the flames as the Exalt bustled about…

He saw her lay a staff on the table before them as she took a seat. “Let me see,” she murmured. 

“Is that not sufficient?” he muttered, gesturing to the silver rod. “I thought Ylisse took great pride in her healing arts.” 

“It’s more likely to leave a scar if it’s not cleaned first.”

He cast a wry look in her direction…but true to her word, she held no more than a damp cloth and a small basin of water in her lap. Bowing his head, he closed his eyes, feeling her dab at the dried blood crusted on his nose and lips and enduring without so much as a twitch when she tested the darkening bruise around his eye. “Does this hurt?”

“No.” She frowned but made no argument, wetting the fabric again and resuming her ministrations. Finally seeming satisfied after several repetitions, she at last set the bowl aside and took up her staff, speaking soft words that set the gem at its tip aglow…and whatever discomfort might have remained swiftly faded to nothing. 

“There,” she said, settling it aside. “That looks much better.”

He flinched back when she reached out to touch his face again, turning away once more as he took to his feet. “I thank you,” he muttered. “I should take my leave--”

“Will you tell me what happened?”

He stopped, looking down at her again. She did not rise to join him, instead patting the cushion beside her in silent invitation. “What does it matter?”

“You were hurt in my home,” she replied gently. “Whatever happened, I want to be sure it’s made right.”

A cold smile cut across his face. “Your home it might be, but it was not an Ylissean hand that dealt the blow, so you have no cause for concern. No diplomatic incident will arise from this, rest assured…”

Somehow, the words only made her brow furrow. “Who, then?” she pressed gently. 

“It matters not--”

“It does to me.”

His smile faded as she folded her hands in her lap, her tremors seeming only to grow rather than still as she tightened her fingers. “This is not a matter of diplomacy. You came to harm. I cannot in good conscience allow it to happen again.”

“There is nothing you can do to stop it,” he scoffed. 

“I can offer you protection,” she insisted. 

“You can do _nothing.”_

“I am Ylisse’s Exalt--”

“And _he is my father!”_ Grima snarled, whirling away from her. “Pray, what could you do to stop _him?_ By the sheer nature of _diplomacy,_ you have no power over him, cannot strike him down by your laws, cannot bend him to your will -- he can do whatever he wishes without consequence, just as he has _always_ done, and nothing you might say or do could give him more than a moment’s pause…and once that was through, he would only lash out with greater force.”

He was pacing now before the hearth, the heat of the flames paling in the face of his own anger. “There is little I would not _give_ to see that man _rot_ for all he’s done, all the _misery_ he sows, but I have no power to do so. He’s seen to that, claiming every scrap of power for his own as he rules Plegia from the shadows behind the throne. And I can do nothing to change it -- if I were to slaughter him the power would just go to his right hand, and gods only know what she would do in his stead. So I endure every _misery,_ every _indignity,_ I play the part of his obedient _dog_ that my brother might not suffer as I have, and yet that man _dares_ try to leash Robin for the crime of making a _friend_ here? He’s never _once_ been allowed beyond the Plegia Castle walls, our mother and I are the _only_ ones he’s been allowed to forge _any_ sort of bond with, I am _happy_ to see him find friendship with the prince here -- and our father _dares_ call it a _betrayal, fraternizing with the enemy_ when our enemies have long since died and turned to bone and dust. I will notstand by as he tries to wrench my brother’s happiness away, I _will not_ allow him to harm my brother, I _will not let him do to Robin what he did to me--”_

His voice guttered out, a sob tearing through his throat. He swiped furiously at his eyes, turning on his heel and gripping the mantle with a shaking hand…

Grima felt Emmeryn’s arms wrap around him, her weight settling gently against his back. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” he hissed. 

“That you’ve suffered.”

He nearly choked on the bitter laugh. “And how is that any fault of yours?”

“Perhaps none,” she conceded. “But that changes nothing.”

He shifted, and she loosened her embrace as he turned, her hands reaching up to dry the tears he could not seem to stop. “Why do you care?” he breathed. 

“Because you’re in pain,” she replied. 

And he could find no argument against her. 

He did not protest as she guided him back to the couch, nor as she bade him sit, nor even as she drew his head down against her shoulder and folded her fingers around his hand. For so many had seen his pain and averted their eyes -- but with her gentle grip, she sought to take it from him, and spare him all she could. 


	23. Anankos/Mikoto - Foggy Recollections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Characters:** Anankos, Mikoto, Kiran  
>  **Relationship:** Romantic  
>  **Prompt:** Giving them a tight hug that makes them lose their breath  
>  _Warnings:_ None  
> 

He slowly lowered his arms as the blinding light faded, squinting even still in the overly bright sunshine as he took in his surroundings. They were strange. Nothing at all like the dark confines of…of…

Where had he come from? 

His thoughts were jumbled. Turning slowly around, he saw dark grey stone beneath his feet, etched with deep grooves worn smooth by the water that flowed through them. There was a stone just before him, depicting a tree with branches interwoven about the hole at its center. Beyond…there were fields. Forests. A sky, impossibly blue, with pale clouds scudding like wave caps overhead, and he turned to follow their progress…

“Hello.”

He blinked, looking down at the stranger in the gilt hood. “…hello,” he repeated, his voice rasping from lack of use. “Where…am I?”

“You’re in Askr,” the figure replied. “I’m Kira--”

“As…kr?” He did not know this place. He should be in…in…not here. Somewhere. 

“Askr,” the stranger agreed. “It’s a kingdom in Zenith. I’m Kiran. Who are you?”

He thought for a moment, looking down at the stone beneath his feet and the water that flowed under his boots through the runes carved into its face. Water was familiar. It was…part of him? No. Yes? It called to him, but told him nothing as it rippled and played in the light…

“Do you remember who you are?”

He frowned, looking down at his hands for a moment as memories tumbled in and out of focus. Water. Darkness. A song. Rage. Pain. Grief. A city in ruins. A city thriving. And he above it all, watching over them…

“I am…the forgotten god. The Silent Dragon. Anankos.”

The stranger…Kiran…smiled beneath their hood. “It’s an honor to meet you.”

“Why am I here?” Anankos asked. He should not be. He knew that. But he did not know where he should be. Only that…he did not want to be there, and the thought of going back filled him with dread…

“I Summoned you,” Kiran explained. “It’s…okay, it’s kind of hard to explain, but…how about we go inside? There’s gonna be a lot to fill you in on about the situation here and…”

His attention drifted as the stranger spoke. But he followed when they turned, moving away from the platform and through a softly glowing arch, feeling magic flow along his skin as he crossed into a bright castle foyer filled with strangers. Some looked up at his arrival; most spared not even a glance. “All these people are Heroes,” Kiran said, gesturing to the unknown faces. “And so are you, here in Askr.”

He frowned at that. “I am…not a hero.”

The hooded figure touched his arm. “You can be, though. That’s what’s great about this place. You can be a Hero, if you want.”

…what did he want? 

He could not remember. His mind was chaos: screams of pain, joyous laughter, crushing grief, aching guilt, a song…a song…

“Anankos?”

The familiar voice stopped his heart. 

The memories washed over him: kind laughter as he tried and failed to snatch a fish from the pond bare-handed and fell into the shallow waters; a fond smile as he tried to recite a verse from memory and jumbled up the words; eyes that sparkled like the sun on the water, and hair like a river flowing through the night, and soft hands that held his own eternally cold ones and tried to share their warmth…

“Mikoto…?”

He turned toward the source in time to see her sprinting toward him, a roil of white robes and sea green ribbons. And then her arms were around him, crushing the breath from him as only the deepest reaches of the darkest sea had ever done before. 

But she was laughing. He could hear it all around him, and even without air, he felt his own mirth rippling through him as he folded his beloved -- his wife -- within his embrace for the first time in far too long.


	24. Anankos/Mikoto - Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Characters:** Anankos, Mikoto  
>  **Relationship:** Romantic  
>  **Prompt:** Listening to them while they vent  
>  _Warnings:_ None  
> 

Mikoto had grown quiet, of late. She had been so lively at the time of their reunion, had taken him around the castle and grounds, shown him all the wonders this strange land of Askr had to offer. She had accompanied him here and there on various missions, helping to guide him when he lost his way, until at last he began to settle into something like routine…

And with that familiarity came silence. But not a kind one. A heavy one, oppressive, like a storm hanging in the sky that had yet to unleash its downpour. He could feel the unspoken words in the air, thick and choking in the uncomfortable stillness as they walked side by side, but not together. 

He did not understand. 

But he remembered, now, so many of the things he’d once lost. He remembered _her,_ their time together, her laughter and her lessons both…

He drew a breath, low and soft, rippling through the silent hallway. “What troubles you?”

“What makes you imagine I am troubled?” she replied airily (but her tone chilled him like a wintery gale). 

“There are things you do not say,” he said. “You do not need to keep your silence. That is but my name: it is not what I demand.”

She did not laugh. She did not smile. She looked at him with icy eyes, and he felt the rumble of the approaching storm…but rather than retreat, he met her gaze, waiting for the hail to fall.

“You _abandoned us.”_

The first words dealt a heavy blow, and he nearly staggered beneath the weight of them. “You said you were sending us away, for our safety, and I believed that. With all my heart, I wanted to believe that – even without seeing Gyges again, I _knew_ there were horrors rising as we fled, and every night I _prayed_ that you would find your way safely back to us. For _years_ I prayed, _every night,_ that you would return to us. Even when the Hoshidans took us in. Even when their king offered me a place at his side as queen and consort. I still prayed _every night_ that you would find your way to the gates and return to us…”

Her voice trembled, her hands curling into fists at her sides. “And then our child was stolen. And that’s when I stopped praying. I’d feared for so long that you might never find your way to us, but I fought so hard to stay strong, to keep heart…but we lost _everything._ I lost _two husbands and my child_ to that exile, and now you simply _appear_ here as though nothing at all has happened – _now_ , when I so long ago lost the heart to pray!?”

Blood dripped from her trembling fists. 

He reached out to her, taking one of her hands and coaxing her fingers to uncurl. Her delicate nails had dug deep into her palms, though thankfully the cuts were shallow…

Something dripped onto the marks as he leaned over them.

“I am sorry,” he breathed, and his words cracked like rime. “I wanted to return to you. I tried with all I had -- I sought to protect you, to protect Corrin, from that horror that destroyed Valla, but…it claimed me. All you lost was by my hand. I am sorry I did not join you. I am sorry, Mikoto. I…”

Her other hand reached up to touch his face. Something crept down his cheek as he lifted his head to meet her eye, and he tasted salt when it settled at the corner of his mouth. “Why are you crying?” she asked, her voice no louder than the murmur of rain. 

He blinked, dislodging another tear as yet more welled to take its place. “I left you to raise a child alone in an unknown land. I could not stop that very child’s loss. I caused you so much pain. You _suffered_ for my actions. You had no reason to treat me kindly. And yet you did.”

The words did not come easy. But words so rarely had. And he knew he had to speak them now, though his voice betrayed him, splintering as pack ice in the silence. “I do not ask forgiveness of you. I could not. I have caused you too much grief. But still, you called to me. You brought me back to myself. I owe you…I owe you everything and more. I want to give you peace, and happiness -- if I must leave to do so I will without protest--”

“Gods, you’re such a fool,” she hiccoughed. 

His breath hitched as she smiled at him, brushing tears from her own eyes. “Haven’t you listened to a word I said? You _leaving_ caused this whole mess in the first place.”

“But…but after…I-I could hurt you again, I…”

“Running away isn’t going to make anything better,” she sighed. “You need to _stay._ How else can you get close to your family again, if you leave?”

Struggling to breathe, he clasped her warm fingers in his cold hands. “You would…we could be…family again?” he whispered. 

She sighed, patting his knuckles with her free hand. “You have a child. A grandchild. You can’t be part of their lives if you run away. But it’s been a long time.”

He felt an ache in his heart, unlike any he had ever known. But he knew, too, that this was the way it should be. “Might we…be friends again, at least?”

At last, the light returned to her eyes, shimmering like sunlight on the waves. “I would be glad for it, Hydra.”

How long had it been since he had been called by that name? How long since he had heard her speak it with such warmth? He opened his arms in silent invitation…

And she moved to embrace him, her warmth chasing away the cold fear as he lay his cheek against her hair. 


	25. Nowi & Lon'qu - Friendly Visit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Characters:** Nowi, Lon'qu  
>  **Relationship:** Platonic  
>  **Prompt:** Traveling long distances just to see them  
>  _Warnings:_ None  
> 

Nowi sighed, poking at a bug crawling around the courtyard. It was so boring around lately! Ricken was too busy with his studying to play, and Lissa only ever wanted to play tea party with Maribelle, and Donny had gone back home for a while and wouldn’t be back for _three more weeks!_ She didn’t think she could make it that long!! Huffing again, she flopped out on her back to find shapes in the clouds…and groaned when she realized that that sky was completely empty.

Rolling over, she poked the bug onto its back and watched its little legs wiggle around in the air. At this point, she’d even settle for _not_ playing. But Frederick wouldn’t let her help with _anything_ after what happened last time, and even though it was always fun digging up worms and things with Henry and Tharja to use in their spooky magic, they’d already left for who even _knew_ where. What was she supposed to do? Why did everybody have to be either busy or gone? It just wasn’t fair! Sighing again, she poked the bug back over again and watched it scuttle off into the grass. There had to be _something_ around here to do, or _somebody_ that would play with her…

Well, if nobody around here would play with her, maybe somebody somewhere else would. Donny said he was gonna be working, but…maybe she could go find Lon’qu! He went to Ferox, and she hadn’t seen him in _forever,_ so he had to be as bored as she was -- but she could fix that! Scrambling up to her feet, she bounced excitedly in place, digging her dragonstone out of her pouch and shifting right in the middle of the courtyard; taking off into the sky, she zipped off over the trees, soaring over the Longfort before sunset with a roar that brought the archers out in force and making it to the khans’ fortress right before nightfall. 

The warriors swarmed out with weapons drawn as she swooped down out of the sky -- up until a familiar face fought his way out of the crowd, yelling something over the wind from her landing. As she turned back, shoving her stone into her bag, she heard steps crunching along in the snow, and turned a big smile on Lon’qu as he marched toward her. “Nowi!”

“Hi, Lon’qu!!” she giggled, throwing herself at him and hugging him tight around the waist. 

“What are you doing here?” he demanded. 

She beamed up at him, bouncing a little on her toes in the snow. “You’ve been gone _sooooo long_ and I missed you! So I came to see you!” 

His glare softened up a little bit, and he sighed, pulling the big fur cloak off his shoulders and wrapping it around her. “You’re going to catch cold out here,” he muttered. “Come on inside and get warmed up.”

“Can we play a game after?” she asked, pulling the fur closer as she let go of him. 

“I suppose,” he grumbled. And even though he tried to hide it, she was sure she saw a little tiny hint of a smile on his face as she took the hand he offered, skipping along beside him into the Feroxi fort. 


	26. Grima/Emmeryn - Thinking of You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Characters:** Grima, Emmeryn  
>  **Relationship:** Romantic  
>  **Prompt:** Buying them a special treat when you go out shopping  
>  _Warnings:_ None  
>  _Notes:_ Fits within the continuity of [The Future Built Upon the Past](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7623532/chapters/17354746)

Grima had become a common sight in the western markets. The fell dragon had taken ample time and care to explore the nation that worshipped the name of Grima, and while each corner bore its own charms, from the singing sands of the eastern deserts to the lush woodlands of the southern archipelago, something about the bustle and verve of the harbors lifted the fell dragon’s spirits with each visit -- and after enough time trapped in Validar’s presence, Grima’s spirits tended to be abyssally low.

Merchants had come to recognize the fell dragon at a glance, and often enough raised a call of greeting and an invitation to show their wares. They seemed less interested in the coin (though Grima carried enough for a king’s ransom – Robin’s spendthrift nature had left the vessel’s pockets overflowing in his former life) than in presenting their divine with a gift that met approval…and truly, their offerings were fascinating, providing glimpses of how the world had changed during those long years spent dormant: scrolls and tomes in unknown languages, weapons in curious shapes, armor with wondrous enchantments, textiles in colors never captured in cloth during Grima’s own lifetime…though human in appearance, the heart of a dragon did beat within the vessel’s breast, and the desire to claim such treasures was sometimes difficult to keep at bay. 

The fell dragon slipped through the crowded harbor, watching sailors from a newly arrived ship file down the gangplank with crates and barrels of new goods from Valm. The market would be thriving today, and Grima felt a thrill at the thought of what new wonders might await; striding past the fishmongers with their fresh catch and the spice sellers already hard at work measuring and packaging wares for the Valmese traders crowding their stalls, the fell dragon slowed their pace only on reaching the quarter dedicated to foreign wares, watching the merchants arraying the new goods--

“Ah! Grima!”

The fell dragon paused, turning toward a stall draped with fine cloth in a rainbow of colors…and smiled, drifting over to the woman waving from behind the counter. “Good day, Hada. Do you have something new to share?”

She beamed, ducking behind the nearest screen. “I was hoping you’d be by today, actually,” she replied in a sing-song voice. “This just came off the ship and the minute I saw it, I thought of you.” She moved back into view, letting a bolt of purple cloth so dark as to seem black outside the light spill across the counter between them. Lifting it up, Grima marveled at the texture, soft and cool to the touch, flowing smoothly across the fell vessel’s skin. “Chon’sin silk. Finest in the world. They use it for robes -- well, they call them kimonos over there, I think -- and sashes and all sorts of other things. Thought you might be able to get a nice set of ceremonial robes out of this.”

The color alone would certainly make for fine ritual attire. But with the weight and feel of it…Grima glanced up at the woman, meeting her expectant attention with a smile. “Would you happen to have this in blue?”

***

Her head lifted at the light knock at the door, and she was beaming long before she reached the handle to open it for the figure smiling on the step. “Hello, Emmeryn,” Grima murmured, taking the hand she offered and moving inside her small home. “I hope you’ve been well.”

She nodded, tucking a curl of hair back behind her ear with her free hand. “Missed you,” she murmured.

“And I, you,” Grima replied, squeezing Emmeryn’s fingers gently. “I’ve brought you something.”

She perked, watching her guest remove a soft parcel from beneath the dark coat. Reaching out with slightly unsteady hands, she unwrapped the light parchment…and for a moment, she could do no more than marvel at the rich blue cloth folded within. Lifting it from where it rested in Grima’s hands, she watched the fabric spill down toward the floor to reveal a simple gown, embroidered with green vines and white jasmine blooms at the hems. 

“Beautiful,” she whispered, rubbing the material between her fingertips and wondering at the texture of it on her skin. 

“Silk,” Grima murmured. “I do hope it fits properly.”

The invitation did not go unnoticed. As Grima moved to tend the fire and see to fresh tea, Emmeryn retreated into the bedroom, removing her simple linen dress and donning the silk gown in its place…

And for a moment, she simply savored the way the loose fabric flowed across her skin. It was light, soft, cool against her scars, unlike anything else she owned…and as she moved once more into the sitting room, she found a smile waiting for her. “Well?” Grima asked, already seeming to know the answer. 

“Perfect,” Emmeryn replied, picking her way back across the room and sitting by Grima’s side…and as a warm hand folded around her own, Emmeryn laced their fingers, resting her head against Grima’s shoulder and settling comfortably into the peaceful quiet. 


	27. Robin & Robin - Something Missing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Characters:** M!Robin  
>  **Relationship:** Platonic  
>  **Prompt:** Listening to them while they vent  
>  _Warnings:_ None  
>  _Notes:_ [Based on a peaceful alternate endgame where Chrom and Robin get through to Grima](https://iturbide.tumblr.com/post/182333656076/im-here-to-provide-you-with-your-daily-dosis-of)

Much to his surprise, having two Robins within Ylisstol Castle caused very little confusion among the Shepherds and their children from the future. To be fair, though, despite the occasional shock he got from seeing what looked like _himself_ turning a distant corner, the differences were quite striking: he carried himself differently, moved with greater care, and though he smiled often there was a weary weight to them that could not be hidden. The fell dragon’s presence had lent an air of power to his vessel – but with Grima’s soul now back in one piece within the dragon atop the palace, the signs of age had been laid bare for all to see, leaving his shoulders sloped from bearing too great a burden for too many years, and tired lines around his eyes that spoke volumes of the strain he had so long endured. 

Robin had no doubt that the man had lived a hard life, even before the fall of the world he and the children hailed from. And he could not help but wonder (guiltily) whether he recalled any of it, or if his memories were as much a void as Robin’s own. He hated the curiosity that sparked such a question, hated the mere thought of asking…

But for all that it made his stomach knot, he could not not help wanting to know.

But he kept that to himself as best he could. The other Robin had been through enough. No need to make it worse. Instead, he turned into the library, hoping that perhaps a book might distract his mind from the queasy guilt and the question humming through his brain--

“Oh. Hello.”

Robin stopped, staring at his doppelganger’s worn smile. Only as the door creaked closed behind him did he think to return the gesture, feeling shy and more than a little awkward as he picked his way over to the shelves the man was browsing. “I hope I’m not disturbing you,” he murmured. 

“Not at all,” the other Robin assured him. “I was just looking for something new to read. It’s…rather odd, to be honest -- several of these series were complete in my time, and some were several books further along. I’ll need to wait still longer to find out how they end…”

“Do you have any recommendations?” Robin ventured.

The man made a thoughtful sound, scanning the spines arranged before them…and finally pulled a thick text down, offering it to his younger self. “Have you tried this one, yet? I can’t recall when I first saw it, but I remember giving it to Sumia because it seemed like something she would like, and two days later having her give it back insisting I read it, too. It’s quite good -- the romance builds quite nicely over the first half of the book, and the tension manages to carry on through the next two…though you’ll apparently need to wait on those, since I don’t think they’ve been written yet.”

Robin grinned, taking the text and running his fingers over the cover. “Hidden but Not Lost,” he murmured. Glancing at the man beside him, he drew in a breath…and stopped, biting his lower lip and tucking the tome against his chest instead. He didn’t mean anything by it, he couldn’t--

“Is something on your mind?”

He flinched, lifting a hand to rub the back of his neck. “I-I was…I’ve been wondering. About something.” Glancing up, he saw the man watching him with quiet, earnest attention…and steeled his nerve as best he could. “Do you remember your life? Before Chrom?”

The other Robin blinked, his head canting slightly to one side. “…why do you ask?”

“…I can’t remember it,” he mumbled. “Any of it. It’s…it’s all a blank. Everything from before I woke up outside of Southtown is just…gone. And…and some things that shouldn’t have been there -- like Chrom’s death -- were with me for so long, instead, but…I don’t know where I came from. I don’t know who I was before. Is the person I am now different than who I should have been? I feel like…like something’s missing, like it’s _been_ missing, and…and I don’t know how to get it back.”

“You don’t want it.”

The words startled Robin enough that he nearly dropped his book. His older self set his own texts on the shelf beside him, running the tips of his fingers lightly over the mark hidden beneath his vambrace. “Sometimes there are things we think we want, or tell ourselves we _need,_ in order to be fulfilled and feel complete. But…so often we’re wrong about what that is.”

He frowned, watching the slight tremor in the other Robin’s fingers. “I’ve envied you, you know. You had no memories when you met Chrom, aside from the ones you were given, and those were mostly buried. You had all of the tactical prowess, all the latent understanding, and none of the hesitation. You didn’t guard yourself against the Shepherds. You didn’t think twice about becoming their tactician, their ally, comrade, confidante, _friend._ It took me…it took me so long to let down my own guard to them, and watching you, I…I think you’re the better of us.”

The man’s voice shuddered, and Robin realized with a shock that he was crying. And before he quite knew what he was doing, he moved to embrace his other self, wrapping his arms tight around his doppelganger’s shaking shoulders and feeling the man cling tight to the back of his coat. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean to stir up bad memories, I’m sorry…”

The older man shook his head against Robin’s shoulder. “It’s nothing to apologize for,” he breathed. “It’s natural to be curious. But you don’t need them. You’re not missing anything – you’ve always been whole.”

He smiled softly, hugging the man just a bit tighter. “I’d still like to hear about what things were like before, sometime,” he murmured. “Even if I don’t need them, there are things that I want to remember -- or at least know. …I want to know about my mother. Our mother.”

“She was wonderful,” the other Robin laughed, pulling back slightly and wiping at his eyes. “She was gentle, and kind, but wouldn’t hesitate to pick a fight with a Feroxi thrice her size if she had to -- and usually she’d win, too.”

“No!” he gaped. “How!?”

“She was not one to be underestimated,” the man grinned, gathering his books and gesturing toward the comfortable chairs set off to one side of the room. “And she was a small woman in Ferox. They consistently underestimated her.” Dropping into one of the seats, Robin leaned eagerly forward as his other self settled comfortably in the chair across from him -- and though the stories did not bring anything rushing back, there was something familiar about them nonetheless, calming the burning desire and leaving him feeling well and truly satisfied. 


	28. Lucina & Morgan - Smile!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Characters:** Lucina, F!Morgan  
>  **Relationship:** Familial (Siblings)  
>  **Prompt:** Taking a picture together to print and hang later  
>  _Warnings:_ None  
> 

Lucina smiled as she closed her bedroom door, setting her practice blade and tome aside and untying the ribbon holding her hair back. Training had gone well today: she was getting better at holding her focus while casting, managing to keep a wind spell going for almost half a minute (and under full control for at least half of it); and she’d finally advanced far enough in her swordplay drills that Father had introduced the riposte to follow on her parry, something she’d been wanting to learn ever since she saw him best Lon’qu with it in a sparring match several months earlier. 

She still needed more practice with both. The sword form was so new that she would need to keep drilling to make it second nature, and she still wasn’t close to graduating from Wind Tomes. But she was getting better, and she couldn’t help humming to herself as she combed her hair out and prepared to head down to the kitchen for a snack before her next lesson--

Footsteps thundered down the hall, and as she turned toward the door it flew open to reveal Morgan standing just outside, beaming as she panted for breath. “Luci!!!” she laughed, lunging toward her sister. “Luci Luci Luci I’m so glad you’re _here_ I’ve been looking _all over for you_ Papa said you _just_ finished your practice so I was _really_ hoping I’d catch you--”

“W-what’s going on?” Lucina asked worriedly as Morgan dragged her over to the vanity. The girl only grinned, propping a book against the silver looking glass before bouncing back a few steps, seemingly to judge its placement. 

Appearing satisfied, she hugged Lucina’s arm and pulled her in close. “Smile!” she laughed, tickling her sister in the ribs -- and she couldn’t stop the storm of giggles, even as an arcane circle glowed on the cover of the tome and a bright flash of light lit the room…

And then it faded, and Morgan gave her arm another squeeze before bouncing over to collect her book. “What is that?” Lucina asked. 

“I found it in the market!” Morgan chirped, hugging it tight. “It makes paintings!”

“Really?” Her younger sister nodded hard enough to make her hair fly in all directions, opening the book and holding it out to her…and as Lucina watched, the fine lines already filling the page resolved into the outlines of two laughing girls, grey tones giving an illusion of depth and shadow before color bloomed through the thick parchment. 

“Isn’t it great!?” Morgan giggled, bouncing in place as she turned it to see the results. “And it turned out perfect! Ooh, I can’t wait to put it in my room!!”

Lucina felt her cheeks begin to warm. “You’re putting it in your room?”

“Well, of course! I don’t have any paintings of us together, so when I saw this I knew right away what I wanted to do with it!”

As Morgan hugged the tome again, Lucina glanced around her own quarters. Her sister was right: she had paintings of Father and Papa together, and of the four of them as a family…but nothing with just the two of them. 

“Do you think…we could take another?” she asked. “I’d like one for my room, too.”

“Really?” Morgan gasped. When Lucina nodded, she threw her arms around her sister before scrambling to prepare the tome for a second cast…and by the time the rune flashed again, they were both laughing as they hugged each other tight. 


	29. Morgan & Lucina - Expectations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Characters:** F!Morgan  
>  **Relationship:** Familial (Siblings)  
>  **Prompt:** Leaving a plate of food in the microwave for when they have a late shift  
>  _Warnings:_ None  
> 

Morgan sighed, lifting her lamp an inch higher as she shuffled into her dark room with an armload of books. When Papa had told her they’d probably be back late, she hadn’t expected this: they’d only just gotten home from their tactical training expedition in the last hour, and while he’d encouraged her to head straight for bed, her performance had proven just how much she still needed to learn, and she just couldn’t rest until she picked up the texts she needed to brush up on. Dropping them unceremoniously at the end of the bed (and cringing when some of them slid off and hit the floor with a bang), she set the lamp on the nightstand and flopped out next to the pillows. 

She’d thought she was ready. She’d been so sure when they headed out early that morning that she’d be able to handle anything. But she’d gotten disoriented, gotten lost, gotten tripped up more than once -- and even though she’d eventually made it out on her own, the moon had already risen high enough in the sky by the time she did that Papa had to Warp them home (and she knew how much that cast took out of him even on a good day). She had a long way to go before she could call herself more than a tactician in training, that was sure…but she was on her way. Papa had said so himself, promising that they would review everything tomorrow after a night’s rest but praising her good work before heading off to bed. 

Even if she wasn’t there yet, she was on her way. 

That made her feel better. At least a little. Crawling to the foot of the bed, she stretched an arm over the side and fished up the tomes she’d dropped, gathering the rest into her arms and shuffling over to stash them all on the other end table…

But there was already something there. 

She tilted her head slightly, putting the books aside and grabbing the lamp before scooting closer. The silver serving cover gleamed in the firelight, which just confused her more: she was sure she’d have remembered it if she left one of these around…

As she brought the flame closer, she noticed a scrap of parchment tucked underneath it. Teasing the paper loose, she immediately recognized the precise script as her sister’s, and eagerly settled in to read it: 

_You missed supper with Father and me, but I saved this for you. I can’t wait to hear how it went tomorrow._

Morgan glanced again at the tray, carefully lifting the cover…and feeling her mouth start to water at the aroma of roasted venison. There was even a slice of crowberry pie crowding out the baked yams. She beamed, sniffling and wiping her nose on her sleeve before pulling the platter into her lap and putting the lamp aside in favor of the fork sticking out of the dessert. 

No, today might not have been her greatest success. But this…this really made her feel like it hadn’t been a loss, either. 


	30. Robin & Lucina - Honey with Tea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Characters:** M!Robin, Lucina  
>  **Relationship:** Parental  
>  **Prompt:** Getting them a coffee just the way they like it  
>  _Warnings:_ None  
>  _Notes:_ Based on a situation in Heroes where [Grima's soul leaves the vessel and Robin reclaims his body](https://iturbide.tumblr.com/post/175592538801/i-have-a-terrible-question-how-would-grima-react), and where [the Enigmatic Blade Marth is his daughter from the future in disguise](https://iturbide.tumblr.com/post/182207464876/how-would-the-robin-who-was-separated-from-grima)

Marth made his way briskly through the barracks, his determined stride fending off questions from what few Heroes he passed far better than any masked glance or terse word could hope to. Which was for the best, really, since he had no interest in explaining the two steaming mugs he bore. They could (and likely would) speculate -- but he had grown accustomed to the murmurs that so often seemed to follow him, and had long ago learned to pay them no mind. He had more important matters to tend. 

Pausing outside one of the doors lining a deserted hallway, he carefully adjusted his hold on the cups, freeing one hand to knock. “Who is it?” a muffled voice called from within. 

“Marth,” he replied, habitually pitching his voice down. 

He swore he heard a quiet laugh from the room beyond. “Come in, then.” 

Wasting no time, he pushed the door open, moving swiftly inside and closing it behind him. As the tactician pushed his chair back from his desk, the swordsman moved to join him, setting the mugs carefully on the edge of the writing table…before removing the mask, and with it the guise she’d grown so accustomed to wearing. 

“Hello, Lucina,” the man chuckled fondly, opening his arms to her. 

“Hello, Papa,” she murmured, leaning into his embrace. “Have you been well?”

“Well enough,” he murmured. “And your mission?”

“Well, the Tempest is quiet again. At least for now.” Drawing back slightly, she settled on the edge of the desk, moving one of the mugs toward him before taking up her own. “Here. I heard you offered to help the Summoner devise some new strategies to hold off Muspell, and I know how you get when you put your mind to tactics.”

He turned a wry smile on her even as he accepted the cup. “You know me far too well,” he sighed, lifting it to his lips and taking a sip…

He pulled back to stare at the drink, and she felt a prickle of anxiety crawl down the back of her neck. “I-is something wrong?”

“No,” he replied. “No, not at all -- it’s exactly right. How did you know?”

She felt an immediate swell of relief (and even pride) as he turned a wondering look on her. “You always take your drinks sweet when you’re working on a problem,” she grinned. “I remember the way Father would tease you for it: ‘do you plan on taking some tea with your honey?’”

The tactician snorted, setting aside his mug to keep from spilling it. “He did! He brought a drink to the library once while I was working on something, and told me he even remembered to put a little tea in for me.”

He was laughing, now, and she joined in, feeling it bubble up in her chest as she stood beside him. Gods, it had been so long since she’d heard _his_ laughter, rather than the cold chuckle of the fell dragon, and it only made her feel all the warmer…

“I miss him.”

The mirth died in her throat, leaving only the sudden silence behind. He sat still, his shoulders hunched as he clutched the cup in shaking hands. “I miss him so much, and it’s my fault he’s gone,” he whispered, his voice beginning to tremble and fray. “I’m sorry, Lucina -- you’ve gone through so much because of me, you lost _everything_ because of me…”

His words faltered, faded, replaced by a soft sound that made her heart twist. She had never seen her papa cry before. But she knew, now, even with his head bowed, that there were tears streaming down his face, dripping onto the pale wood of the desk. 

“It wasn’t you,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. “I know it wasn’t you, Papa. You would never -- you’d _never_ have hurt Father, I _know_ how much you loved him -- how much you loved _each other…”_

“But he’s gone,” the man whimpered. “He’s gone, and it was my hand--”

She reached down as his fingers curled into a trembling fist, squeezing his hand gently. “But it wasn’t _you._ I _know_ it wasn’t you, Papa. …I’m sure Father knew, too,” she sniffled, hiding her face against his hood. 

She felt him move, and before she could react he had turned in her embrace, rising to his feet and pulling her into a tight hug of his own. And as suddenly as the tears had overwhelmed him, she found herself weeping, muffling her own sobs into the thick fabric of his coat. She had missed this -- gods, she had missed this _so much,_ had given everything she had just for the _chance_ that another child would not suffer the same loss…but she had never once imagined that she might have this back herself. And for all the sorrow that still weighed on her with her father’s loss, having her papa back brought with it a joy she’d believed forever lost. 

They clung to one another for what felt like an age. Only when their sobs at last quieted to hiccoughs did they pull apart, leaning shoulder to shoulder against the writing table. It had been a long time since she’d cried so much, or so freely…but she felt better, somehow. “Thank you, Lucina,” the tactician sniffed, wiping at his eyes with the heel of his hand before taking up his mug again. 

She bit her lip, lifting her own cup and holding it close to her chest. “Y…you know,” she mumbled, glancing shyly toward him, “you could…call me something else. If you wanted.”

He blinked, tilting his head slightly to one side as he puzzled over the words. But she saw the recognition spark in his eyes -- and the kind smile that joined it made her heart warm. “You’re not too old for pet names anymore?”

“I was never too old,” she confessed, running a fingertip along the rim of her cup. “I just thought I was, because I was too young to know better.”

He laughed, a sound so gentle and so familiar that it brought new tears to her eyes. “If you’re certain, Little Light.”

“I’m sure, Papa,” she giggled, nestling closer against his side. And as they talked together over their tea, for the first time in so long, she felt like she was truly home. 


	31. Grima/Emmeryn - Others' Expectations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Characters:** Grima, Emmeryn  
>  **Relationship:** Romantic  
>  **Prompt:** Holding their hands when they are shaking  
>  _Warnings:_ None  
> 

Grima scowled as he stalked through the shadowed halls of Ylisstol Castle, adjusting the lay of his heavily ornamented gorget. The collar was slightly too small, forcing him to stand with shoulders squared and back straight if he wanted to so much as breathe or speak (and some bitter part of him felt certain that it was intentional, a cruel ploy to ensure that his posture befit the king of Plegia). He dreaded yet another afternoon spent among the Ylissean nobles with their haughty airs and ostentatious attire…but it might not be so insufferable if the Exalt attended again, for her presence seemed to keep the aristocrats on at least slightly better behavior than they were otherwise…

“Your Grace, you _must_ let me escort you.”

He paused, tilting his head to catch the echoes of the unfamiliar voice. He did not recognize the speaker, but the address was one he knew well--

“That’s quite alright. I’ve no need of a chaperone.”

He did recognize that voice. But the tension hiding beneath the soft laughter set his nerves on edge. He was moving before he knew even what he intended to do, robes swirling around him as pursued the echoes of the conversation continuing somewhere out of sight. 

“How can you say that, Your Grace? Everyone knows that Plegian is not to be trusted.”

“He’s done nothing to deserve mistrust.”

“Your kindness knows no bounds. But come now -- you recall what happened with Dale and Morley, how he would have gutted them had you not stepped in…”

“He had no weapons, how could he have done such a thing? And besides, his anger was justified, given the slurs they cast at him and his brother.”

“Harmless japes!”

“Cruel prejudices that paint Ylisse as a land where my father’s ways still hold sway.”

“Come now, don’t say that. The halidom has seen marvelous changes under your reign.”

“And yet, its people still look on Plegia with fear and contempt.”

“Can you blame them? Especially when their king bears the name of that wicked divine? You know, my father told me once that your sire’s war was for Ylisse’s salvation: he heard that their fell god was reborn and endeavored to keep the world safe from the destruction sure to follow -- where are you going, Your Grace?”

He could hear their movements now, the soft rustle of the Exalt’s gown on the stone floor, the sharp clack of heeled shoes…and as he rounded a corner into the next passage, he saw a man with red-gold hair clutching the woman’s hands, holding her near even as she attempted to pull away. “My dear, please, you must allow me to protect you -- that man cannot be trusted, but I swear I will keep you safe--”

“From who.”

Grima’s voice boomed through the passage. The Ylisseans both looked up when his shadow fell over them, and for all that the stranger loomed over the Exalt, the Plegian king towered over them both -- and he felt a smirk carve its way across his lips as the nobleman’s face paled in fear. 

But the Exalt herself did not hesitate, withdrawing her hands and stepping to Grima’s side. “Well met, Your Majesty,” she smiled.

“Eavesdropping hardly seems befitting of a king,” the aristocrat huffed, attempting to recover himself...only to quail as Grima turned a cold stare on him. 

“It is no fault of mine if you raise your voice for others to overhear,” he growled, watching the man tremble for just a moment before turning to the Exalt. “Do you plan to attend the noble gathering this afternoon?”

“Yes, I had,” she agreed. 

He bowed very slightly, offering his hand to her. “Might I accompany you, Your Grace?”

“She has no need of your company,” the nobleman protested -- and as he moved, Grima cast another sharp glare in his direction, cowing him once more. 

“I did not ask you.” 

He felt her fingers brush against his, and once more turned his attention on the Exalt. “I would be pleased to accompany you,” she murmured.

“Then I will join Your Grace--”

“That’s quite alright,” she insisted, smiling at the nobleman. “Please tell the court that we will arrive shortly.”

As the man drew breath to protest, Grima draped a silk sleeve over the Exalt’s shoulders, stopping him in his tracks. Instead he merely bowed, his voice clipped as he forced the words out through clenched teeth. “As you wish, Your Grace.”

Grima watched as the nobleman retreated from sight, narrowing his eyes each time the man cast a glance over his shoulder. “Who was that man?” 

“Percival. Son of the Earl of Wister, and second in line to inherit the title.” Which meant very little to Grima, all told: Ylissean politics frustrated him with their pointless intricacy. 

“Are you familiar?” 

She glanced up at him, seeming puzzled by the words, and Grima struggled for the proper phrase…but before he could find it, her expression changed, a dim smile replacing her frown. “The council believes that I should wed, for the sake of the halidom,” she murmured. “He is their favored choice for consort.”

“And what are your thoughts on the matter?” 

“They have not asked.”

He drew a breath…and paused, holding his hand out to her. She blinked up at him, hesitantly settling her fingers in his palm again…and he could feel her trembling as he folded his hands gently around hers. “What say we delay a while,” he murmured. “The weather is pleasant. It would be a shame to waste the whole of the afternoon indoors.”

“You don’t care much for the court, do you?” she giggled. 

“As much as you do, I imagine,” he replied. 

Her laughter quieted as she looked up at him, the shaking of her fingers only growing more pronounced. But he held them even so, letting the silence stretch and waiting for her answer. 

“…would you care to take a walk in the gardens?” she offered. “They’re quite lovely at this time of year.”

He smiled, giving her hand a light squeeze. “Lead the way, Your Grace.”

“Emmeryn,” she corrected, turning away from the hall the nobleman vanished down. 

He raised a brow, moving easily at her side through the bright sunlight. “I doubt your council of nobles would take kindly to such a familiar address.”

She beamed at him, bright and soft as moonlight. “They don’t take kindly to many things I do. But that hasn’t stopped me before.”

Grima could not help smiling at that. And as they retreated from the chill stone corridors and into the warmth of the palace gardens, she shifted her hand in his -- not to break away, but to return his gentle grip with one of her own.


	32. Grima/Emmeryn - Rainy Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Characters:** Grima, Emmeryn  
>  **Relationship:** Romantic  
>  **Prompt:** Holding their hand while walking, even if there isn’t a crowd  
>  _Warnings:_ None  
> 

Though the nobles remained convinced that their Plegian guests could not be trusted, Emmeryn had grown quite fond of their company. The king and his brother were good, kind people for anyone with eyes to see -- and she was deeply pleased that her brother had realized that, vanishing with the Plegian prince most afternoons. As for the king…despite his fearsome name and intimidating demeanor, he had proven himself a true gentleman in every sense of the word; even now, walking through the quiet corridors at her side, he listened intently when she spoke, and conversed with her rather than talking over her as so many of the noblemen did in the council and at court.

“So you were not taught to ride a pegasus?” he asked. “I was led to believe that they were emblematic of Ylisse. It seems odd that you would not be trained for it.”

“It was deemed too dangerous,” she sighed. “I was given instruction in horseback riding, and even that was…cursory, at best. It was mostly for the sake of ceremony, as best I can tell, and I rarely have an opportunity to make use of it.”

“Strange,” he muttered. “I was given extensive training in wyvern riding.”

“Was the one you arrived on a personal mount?”

“…not exactly. Black wyverns are considered blessed in Plegia and used exclusively by the Grimleal. Given the…circumstances…” he muttered, lifting his right hand, “it was deemed appropriate that I have a mount of a suitable color. I did not raise or train her myself, and have had few opportunities to bond with her, but she is responsive and easily handled.”

“Perhaps you should spend more time with her,” Emmeryn offered. “Most pegasus knights don’t raise their mounts from birth -- Phila certainly didn’t with hers -- but that doesn’t change the bond between rider and mount.”

He glanced down at her, canting his head to one side as he grinned. “Perhaps you would join me?”

“Could I?” she asked. “She wouldn’t take poorly to a stranger?”

“Wyverns are handled by humans from the moment they hatch. They all have their own personalities, of course, but they are not aggressive with humans and attack only when trained to respond to a command. From my own experiences…I believe she will take to you with curiosity.”

“I would love to, then -- though it might be best to wait for the weather to improve,” she suggested, muffling a giggle in her sleeve as she glanced out the rain-washed windows.

“…a fine point,” he conceded, following her gaze. They quieted for a moment, watching the rivulets wind down the panes as they passed…and in the silence, she reached out to take his hand. 

He looked down at her, raising one brow in unspoken question -- but she only smiled, continuing along at the same unhurried pace through the nearly deserted corridor. “I know that your royal procession arrived on wyverns, but do Plegians raise horses, as well?” she asked. 

“…we do, though not in the same numbers,” he agreed, his fingers curling gently around her own. “At least not in the desert, given that few areas can sustain them. They are more common in the west, but the desert horses are interesting: they are much smaller than any of the Ylissean mounts I have seen…”

They paid no mind at all to the glances cast toward them. They gave one another their full attention, instead, and the conversation continued on, quiet as the rain washing over the palace windows as they walked hand in hand through the soft light.


	33. Grima/Emmeryn - Legacy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Characters:** Grima, Emmeryn  
>  **Relationship:** Romantic  
>  **Prompt:** Calming them down when they have a bad dream  
>  _Warnings:_ Implied immolation (dream)  
> 

_Silence._

_It was strange. The whole of the city had gathered in the square, she could see them clamoring and cheering, but she could not hear their calls. Her movements felt heavy and slow as she scanned the scene, the churning sea of faces, the central stage where two posts stood ringed by wood and kindling…_

_The Plegian royals rose out of the roiling crowd, their robes stark black against the pale, muted colors filling the square. Monks in white robes followed no more than a step behind, axes at the ready, forcing them across the platform where they bound the young men to the stakes. Grima lifted his head, met her eye, opened his mouth as though to speak (but she was too far away to hear him, too far to hear anything at all)--_

_Something moved beside her._

_She turned, too slowly, to see her father rising from his throne. Beyond him, she could see her brother and sister, staring passively across the scene with dark eyes even as the Exalt lifted his hand high._

_The archer posted beside Lissa readied his bow, nocking a flaming arrow. She felt the heat on her face long before she managed to turn her head to see the bowman at the edge of the balcony beside her, his own weapon drawn taut and ready to fire. She struggled to rise, but her body would not respond to her desperate pleas, and even as she opened her mouth to beg him stop her father’s hand fell -- and the flames soared through the air, striking the kindling and swallowing the Plegians whole._

_It was screaming that pierced the silence. An endless, agonizing shriek, and she could not block it out, could not lift her hands, could not find her voice--_

“Emmeryn!!”

Her eyes snapped open, the scream dying in her throat (though the echoes still rang through her skull and the chamber around her, amplified endlessly back on themselves). Everywhere she looked she saw only darkness, formless shadow, and she choked on the terror rising up in her chest as she struggled upright…

“Peace,” a familiar voice called -- and she lunged toward it, her hands grasping desperately for something, _anything…_

She felt warm silk and clutched it tight as strong, steady arms curled around her. A light sparked behind her, its flickering lilac glow pushing back the dark enough to see the room around her. She recognized it: the cold hearth, the low table, the plush chairs…this was the parlour of her own apartments. Had she fallen asleep…?

“Emmeryn?”

The voice rumbled beneath her cheek, and her breath snared in her throat. Steeling her nerves, she lifted her head…

Grima watched her, his usual calm replaced by clear worry. She remembered now: he had been beside her through the evening, had taken tea with her, spoken with her as the fire burned low…

“Are you alright?” he asked. “You cried out in your sleep.”

Her breath snared in her throat as she pressed closer against him, her shivering finally beginning to abate in the face of his warmth. “A nightmare,” she whispered. “Nothing more.” Her father had died a decade before, her siblings were safe…and Grima’s embrace tightened around her, very slightly, trying to still her trembling with the silent reassurance that he was near. “Have you been here through the night?”

“You fell asleep against my arm,” he murmured. “I did not wish to disturb your rest.”

She smiled, laying her cheek against his shoulder. “You’re very considerate. But you need to rest, too.”

“I will,” he promised. “After you calm.”

Her cheeks warmed very slightly at those words. “You don’t need to trouble yourself, it was just a dream--”

“It is no trouble. And even if it was but a dream, the terror it leaves is real. I would not abandon you to suffer that fear alone.”

A soft smile curved across her lips. “You’re very kind, as well.”

He made no remark on that, though she swore she saw the corners of his lips turn up ever so slightly. “Would you find any greater comfort in your bedchamber, rather than in a parlour chair?” he suggested instead. 

Emmeryn only shook her head, curling where she rested against Grima’s side. “No. I would rather stay here.”

His grip eased, one hand settling in his lap (and she marveled at the curious violet flame blazing in his palm). “As you wish, then. Should I rouse you if you doze again?”

Logically, she knew she should agree, so that the both of them might find real sleep in their beds -- and yet… “…if you wish,” she replied instead. He cast a curious glance down at her as she reached toward the fire he held, feeling no more than a warm breath against her skin as it licked her fingers…

She felt him shrug, his arm settling gently across her shoulders. And as she nestled against his side, her tremors stilled at last. 


	34. Grima & Robin - Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Characters:** M!Robin, Grima  
>  **Relationship:** Familial (Siblings)  
>  **Prompt:** Giving them a tight hug that makes them lose their breath  
>  _Warnings:_ None  
> 

Grima moved down the corridor as swiftly as he dared, still favoring his side even with the stitches gone. The discomfort would ease with time, he knew -- but he knew equally well that he would only have what time he stole.

So when his father’s healers turned their backs, he had slipped away from the infirmary, grateful to once more breathe air not permeated by the nauseating stench of fermenting potions. Using the wall for extra support, he wound his way through the honeycombed maze of hallways, searching for the one place he knew he could find a true respite…

And as he turned the corner, he saw his mother moving up the passage ahead (and his knees nearly buckled from the rush of relief that washed over him at the sight of her). In the same instant, she saw him -- and before he could open his mouth to call her, she was at his side, her arms around him and her strength shoring up his own wavering balance. 

“What happened? It’s been nearly a fortnight, we’ve been out of our minds…”

He shook his head, resting an arm across her shoulders for support. “The announcement went poorly.”

“I heard there was an upset,” she muttered. “No one would tell me what sort, though.”

“The sort that amounts to an insurrection,” he huffed as they began to walk together. “A lancer managed to break through the guard while I was dealing with a mage. I managed to deflect it from a killing blow, at least.”

Neither one of them remarked on how little that would mean to the hierophant. But he knew it was on both their minds. 

“You should still be resting, in that case,” his mother chided gently, moving into her personal apartments. “You can stay here while you finish out your recovery. I can deal with Validar and his men if they come looking,” she said, cutting off his attempt at protest. “Besides, someone’s been missing you--”

_“Grima!!!”_

The sudden impact nearly floored him; truthfully, it was only his mother’s presence that kept him upright at all. But the crushing embrace still stole his breath, and for just a moment he marveled at how such a small child could manage such strength.

“Careful, little heart,” his mother cautioned. “Your brother’s not quite well yet.”

Robin did not move. But his embrace did relax, just enough for Grima to catch a breath again. “Were you so worried?” he chuckled, reaching down to smooth the boy’s unruly hair. 

When his brother looked up, his cheeks were already wet with tears, and still more welled in his red-rimmed eyes. “I was scared,” he whimpered. “You didn’t come and didn’t come and I thought something bad happened and I didn’t know if I’d see you again and I was _scared.”_

Grima glanced to his mother as the boy buried his face once more in his brother’s shirt, clinging just a bit tighter. “We’ve both been worried,” she murmured, smoothing her oldest son’s unkempt hair. “But Robin’s lost the most sleep over it.”

“Well, we can’t have that,” Grima murmured. “You’ll never grow if you don’t get the rest you need, tiny one.” And his brother was already small for his age. “Come: let’s see you to bed.”

Robin peeped up at him. “Will you come with?”

“Yes,” Grima promised, a soft smile lifting the corners of his lips. Sniffling thickly, Robin let go, clinging instead to the hand his brother offered; and together they moved into the quiet bedroom, curling together among Robin’s nest of pillows and blankets…and there the rest they had been missing found them both at last. 


	35. Grima/Emmeryn - To See You Smile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Characters:** Grima, Emmeryn, Robin, Chrom, Lissa  
>  **Relationship:** Romantic  
>  **Prompt:** Making a goofy face until they notice and laugh  
>  _Warnings:_ None  
> 

Of all the things that could be said about Plegia’s king (and she had heard a great number, from both his family and the halidom’s nobility), the one thing that all seemed to agree on was just how _serious_ he was. He kept his distance from most Ylisseans, which afforded him an aloof and unapproachable air, and even for those who did get close his smiles were sparing at best and rarely warm (though his younger brother swore otherwise). She didn’t think she’d ever heard him laugh, and the Plegian royals had been the halidom’s guests for nearly a full season already. 

Breakfast was a rather quiet affair most days -- hardly silent, but the conversations tended to be slower while some of them fought to shake off sleep. Robin in particular seemed drowsiest through the early morning (moreso even than Lissa, who at least managed to ask for things rather than sleepily gesturing across the table), and Emmeryn couldn’t help the occasional giggle as she saw Chrom gazing fondly at the oblivious prince sitting opposite him. Grima fared rather better than his brother, at least, minding both Robin’s manners and his own with the same distant calm he always seemed to wear…

She folded her hands beneath her chin, watching the man across from her as he ate in silence. There was something about his demeanor this morning that reminded her of her own siblings after an argument: a slight furrow in his brow, downturned eyes focused on the meal he merely pushed around his plate, a stony frown further hardening his already fierce expression. Perhaps something had happened with his father: that seemed the most frequent cause of his poor moods…but she hated to see him so troubled, especially when there was so little she could do to ease his burden…

She wondered, though, if she might at least brighten his mood a bit. Whenever Chrom or Lissa had looked so gloomy, a bit of levity tended to cheer them up enough to at least smile…glancing up and down the table to see her sister slathering honey on a thick slice of bread and her brother still dreamily watching Robin, she muffled a laugh in her sleeve -- and turned her attention once more to Grima, sticking her tongue out, puffing out her cheeks, and fanning her fingers behind her ears. 

It was difficult not to laugh herself, and impossible not to smile as she tried to hold the pose. But she did her best while Grima pushed blueberries from one side of his plate to the other; the temptation to call his attention was just short of unbearable, but she fought against it, forcing herself to be patient…

His gaze flicked up toward her. 

It took every bit of self-control not to dissolve into laughter as his dispassionate glower morphed into a perplexed stare. She swore she could see his mind trying to reconcile her usual composure with this ridiculous turn…

He snorted. 

And then he laughed, low and rich and warm enough that she dissolved into giggles herself as their siblings turned to stare at the both of them. Robin tugged on his brother’s sleeve, suddenly wide awake and anxious he’d missed something exciting; but Grima only shook his head, winking across the table at the Exalt -- and despite herself, she laughed still harder at what was to be, it seemed, a private joke between them. 


	36. Grima & Kanas - Children's Caprice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Characters:** M!Grima, M!Kana, F!Kana  
>  **Relationship:** Familial  
>  **Prompt:** Making a goofy face until they notice and laugh  
>  _Warnings:_ None

Grima had learned, both through the memories of his vessel and recent personal experience, that young children could be as mercurial as the summer sky: calm one moment, thundering the next, with barely a breath of wind between them. Finding the cause was as much about luck as anything, and sometimes it passed just as suddenly as it rose, with no time to sort out what brought it on; while other times, it would continue to rage until something intervened. 

The afternoon’s storm, unfortunately, seemed unlikely to pass of its own accord. The Kanas, for all their usual friendliness and cheer, had decided that they each wanted one particular stuffed animal for themselves during the afternoon’s games -- and neither one would concede to share. It had taken the intervention of his counterpart to keep them from tearing the toy apart entirely, but even now they refused to speak to one another, instead sitting with their backs turned on each other. 

“I don’t suppose you wish to talk about it,” Grima ventured, folding his hands beneath his chin as he watched the two children fume. 

“Not ‘til she ‘pologizes,” the boy huffed. 

“Not ‘til _he_ ‘pologizes _first,_ ” she shot back, glaring over her shoulder. That caught his attention, and he turned a similarly fierce glower on her. Grima could practically feel the lightning crackling between them…and wearily shook his head. He really had hoped it would not come to this, but it seemed he had no other options. 

With a heavy sigh, he planted his hands on his knees, watching for another moment while the two children stared each other down…and then he crossed his eyes, flared his nose, and puffed his cheeks wide enough for his lower lip to stick out. 

He wasn’t sure which of them happened to notice first. But very suddenly, the both of them were shrieking with laughter -- and as he blinked his eyes back into focus, he saw them clinging to one another as they rolled about on the ground, tears welling in their eyes from the sheer force of their laughter. 

“Well, then,” he chuckled, rising from his place, “shall we join the rest of the creche? We may have time enough for one more game before supper.”

“Yeah!!” they cheered, scrambling to their feet. And with the storm broken, they skipped ahead of him hand in hand, eager to make up for lost time. 


	37. Grima & Corrin - Puddle Hopping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Characters:** M!Grima, F!Corrin, Fae, M!Kana  
>  **Relationship:** Familial  
>  **Prompt:** Tucking their hair behind their ear to help them get it out of their face  
>  _Warnings:_ None

The storm had risen out of nowhere -- a common enough threat during the summer, but one that even the dragons atop the castle could not always predict; the first rumble of thunder had sent the creche scrambling, but the skies had opened up well before Grima and Fae could reach the castle, forcing them to duck into one of the pavilions decorating the Askran gardens to escape the downpour. 

“Are you alright?” he asked, setting the little Divine Dragon down on the bench. Though his vessel was soaked to the skin, Fae seemed to have escaped the worst of it, her hair slightly damp where his coat could not cover her but otherwise remarkably dry. 

By way of answer, she beamed up at him, kicking her legs cheerfully over the edge of the seat. “I’m fine, Papa! But you’re all wet!”

“So I am,” he chuckled, shrugging out of his drenched coat and hanging it across one of the beams supporting the roof. Dropping down onto the bench, Grima leaned back against the railing, smiling to himself as Fae crawled into his lap and began to hum along with the steady rain…

As he drew breath to join her, the fell dragon paused, tilting his head slightly as he stared out into the grey mist. Was that a voice?

“Come on, little puddle jumper, it’s time to go in.”

“Noooo, I don’t wanna go back, Mama!”

“You’ll catch a cold -- come on, I think I see a place to wait out the storm.”

“I think company’s coming,” he chuckled. Fae looked up just as the sound of splashing steps reached them -- and a moment later, Corrin stepped up onto the wooden platform, holding Kana’s hand as he hopped up beside her. “I see we weren’t the only ones caught off guard by the rain,” Grima called as the little dragon scampered down off his lap. 

Corrin looked toward him, her pale hair sticking stubbornly to her face despite her best efforts to push it aside. “Oh! I didn’t realize anyone else was out here. You couldn’t make it back with the others?”

“I’m a bit slow by comparison,” Grima remarked as she picked her way over to the bench, taking a seat beside him while Fae flung herself at Kana and sent the both of them tumbling. 

“Kana just wanted to play in the rain,” Corrin sighed. “He does love jumping in the puddles -- though I wish he would wait for the rain to stop before he did…”

As she raked futilely at her hair, Grima reached out, coaxing the wet strands away from her eyes and back behind her ears. “Better?” 

She nodded, timidly tucking a final stray lock out of the way. “Y-yes. Much.”

“Good.” Patting her head, he leaned against the railing to wait out the storm…and he heard Corrin giggle as she settled back to watch the children chase one another across the deck to the gentle whisper of rainfall. 


	38. Chrom & Cynthia - Best Efforts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Characters:** Chrom, Cynthia  
>  **Relationship:** Parental  
>  **Prompt:** Making their favorite meal when they are having a hard day  
>  _Warnings:_ None  
>  _Notes:_ Fits within the continuity of [The Future Built Upon the Past](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7623532/chapters/17354746)

Chrom knocked lightly at the door, frowning at the muffled whimpers he could hear through the wood. “Cynthia?”

“Go away,” a stuffy voice called. 

That didn’t sound good. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“…no.”

Well, she didn’t sound entirely convinced. “You’re sure I can’t come in?” 

“…if you want.”

The mumble was so quiet that he wasn’t entirely sure he’d actually heard it. But when he tested the handle, he didn’t hear a protest; stepping carefully inside, he shut the door behind him before moving to sit on the edge of the bed, settling the tray on his lap. 

Cynthia lay sprawled on the mattress, her face buried in her pillow, and for a few moments Chrom simply sat and watched her, drumming his fingers on the silver cover and trying to think of what to say. Should he say something? Gods, Robin and Sumia were so much better at this than he was. Maybe it was all the books they read. 

“…do you want to talk about it?” he ventured again. She mumbled incomprehensibly into her pillow, hugging it slightly tighter and only managing to muffle her voice more. “…well…if you do, I’m here. I’ll listen, if you want to talk.”

It was quiet for a few minutes. Chrom said nothing, hoping that he’d done the right thing, or asked the right thing, or…

“I failed my pegasus knight exam.”

She turned her head, sniffling thickly and staring at him with puffy, red-rimmed eyes. “T-they said I wa-asn’t ready yet. A-and I tried _so hard_ and I tho-ought I di-i-id so _well_ and…”

“You can try again, though. Right?” he asked. “Did they tell you what you need to work on?”

She mumbled something he wasn’t able to catch, curling up with her pillow again; reaching out to tousle her pigtails, he chuckled as she whined and swatted at his hand. “I brought something that might make you feel a little better.”

That brought her head up. Turning slightly, he placed the tray on the bedspread…and, waiting for just a second more to make sure she was watching, he lifted the cover, revealing a slice of pale cake decorated with rosettes of buttercream frosting, each one topped with a candied violet. 

She stared at it, fresh tears welling up in the corners of her eyes. “B-b-but I di-idn’t ma-a-ake it.”

“So?” Chrom shrugged. “You tried your best, didn’t you?” She nodded, slowly sitting up and scrubbing at her eyes. “I think that’s the most important thing. So long as you don’t give up and keep giving it your best effort, I know you’ll make it. So eat up, and when you feel better, go right back out there and try again.”

She slowly reached out to pluck one of the flowers from its place, nibbling on the edge of the petal. “Did you make this?”

“…I helped,” he mumbled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m…not much good in the kitchen. Not like your mother. But she let me make the flowers.” With help, admittedly. But Cynthia didn’t need to know that.

A smile finally broke across her face again as she threw her arms around his neck. “You’re the best, Father,” she sniffled, snuggling closer as he hugged her tight. “I promise, I won’t give up -- I’ll make it, just you wait!”

“That’s my Pega Pony Princess,” he laughed, ruffling her hair again. “Now go on, eat your cake.”

“Do you want to share?” she offered, popping the flower into her mouth as she pulled back. 

He shook his head, pushing the tray closer to her. “It’s all yours. You earned it.” She beamed as she picked the platter up…but before she started on her treat, she settled next to him at the edge of the bed, leaning comfortably against her father’s arm -- and as she cut a hearty bite free, he curled an arm proudly around her shoulders. 


	39. Grima/Emmeryn - Changing Seasons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Characters:** Grima, Emmeryn  
>  **Relationship:** Romantic  
>  **Prompt:** Letting them warm their cold hands under your shirt  
>  _Warnings:_ None  
> 

Grima was no stranger to cold: the nights in Plegia were as frigid as the days were scorching, and he had long ago become accustomed to the daily shifts. But even he had to admit (grudgingly) that the chill of autumn in the halidom was far worse than he had anticipated, biting through even his layered diplomatic garb. “I was not aware that the change of seasons brought such bitter cold with it,” he muttered, tucking his hands into his sleeves. 

“It’s the damp that’s worst,” Emmeryn remarked, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear as they meandered along the garden path, the canopy above them ablaze with color where once it had been a cool swathe of green. “It makes the summer hotter and the winter colder -- or, at least, that’s what Miriel says. I think she calls it…the humidity?”

A strange word. He frowned, struggling and failing to find its like in his native tongue. “Is this…humid-tea common in Ylisse?”

“Humidity,” she corrected gently, a soft laugh hidden in the undercurrent of her voice (but not at his expense, he knew, and he could not help the smile that curved across his own lips). “And only in some places -- there’s a small arid span just off the eastern coast known for mirages.”

He made a small, thoughtful noise, steeling himself as a breath of cold wind blew down the path. Emmeryn shivered, though, tugging her shawl tighter around her shoulders, and he stepped slightly closer, draping a sleeve over her shoulder as he touched her fingers…

“Your hands are frozen.”

She looked up at him in surprise, smiling softly as she touched his knuckles. “It’s nothing to worry about,” she assured him. “Once we’re back inside they’ll warm up again.”

“Shall we go back now, then?”

“We don’t need to rush,” she insisted. “I thought you might enjoy seeing the leaves change: it’s one of my favorite parts of the year, along with the spring bloom…”

He sighed, glancing up and down the path…and, seeing no one, he unfastened the gorget at his throat, loosening his robe just enough to tuck a hand beneath it. She watched, a bit of color rising in her cheeks as the implications dawned on her. “There’s no need for that--”

“If you have no intention of returning indoors to warm your hands, something else must be done,” he replied. “So the choice is yours.”

She stared at him for another moment, seeming unable to find words. And then she smiled, lifting a hand to hide it (though she could not conceal the way it touched her eyes and made them shine). “I’ll admit, I never expected _you_ to make such an offer,” she giggled, stepping closer and leaning against him; he flinched reflexively as her chill fingers brushed across his chest, embracing her gently as another breath of wind stirred the leaves. 

“Do you disapprove?” he asked, ducking his nose into her hair. 

“Not in the least,” she murmured. “Though this certainly won’t convince me to go back inside any sooner.”

He chuckled, tightening his arms around her. “So be it, then.”


End file.
